Peccata Mundi Assignment 2: The Fountain of Youth
by D-of-the-Mask
Summary: The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong. See inside for assignment summary.
1. A Night at the Ballet

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Welcome to Assignment 2 of the Detective Erik series! Thank you for returning or, for those new comers, for joining. Anyone that is just joining, this is the second installment of the Peccata Mundi series. The first story is called The Nightingale. Anyway, you don't necessarily need to have read the first book in order to understand the events in this one. There could be some very slight confusion, but I'm going to try to reiterate some points stated in the first installment. Moving on now, thank you all again! I was really happy with the responses The Nightingale received. I'm hoping I can continue to live up to your viewer expectations and do this story justice. Thank you for reading and, hopefully, reviewing! Now we shall begin.

Oh, by the way, I absolutely adore this chapter! You'll see why. .

**Section 1**

- A Night at the Ballet

It seemed like ages since this had been occurring. Every morning it was the same routine. Sleeping in had become a foreign task within the household. If ever it felt like there was a lack of sleep before, it had become ten times worse. Mornings were dreaded. Racing into sleep at an early hour became the norm. Remaining quiet about the intrusion seemed the hardest thing to do. It wasn't even known why silence about the subject had to be maintained. Perhaps it was out of politeness. Perhaps it was to avoid any awkward situations. But a single thread was holding up that heavy weight, and it was about to snap.

There it came again, right on cue. It was like some sort of alarm clock from Hell. There seemed to be no way to stop it. It just went on and on and on. Regret about the decision to house this nuisance began to arise. Was it much of a decision, though? No, not really. It had all happened too quickly to do anything intelligent about it. Now they were stuck. There was no way to go back. In fact, that wasn't even desired. It wouldn't be right. Some inner presence did not want to change the past. So there had to be some sort of solution. There had to be some sort of compromise or alternative.

Because ever since Christine Daaé had come to the mansion and discovered the grand piano in the sitting room, Erik had not been able to sleep into the morning.

He tossed. He turned. He wrestled with the blankets until a cocoon surrounded him. Still, nothing blocked out the loud twitter of piano keys. It wasn't a bad melody, but it also wasn't a good melody. It was just frustrating to hear such noise in the early morning hours when he wanted to remain in bed. For Erik to want to remain in bed was a feat, too. It had only started up when she had moved in. She was exhausting, yet, strangely, refreshing.

Right now she was in that exhausting stage. Erik, groaning, finally pushed his way out of the tangle of blankets and sat up. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he yawned deeply. There was no way he could continue to rest. He was giving in, but not necessarily giving up. He picked up the white porcelain mask on the side table and placed it over the right half of his face. He tousled his hair slightly, not really paying any mind to it, and set his feet on the carpet-less floor. Slipping on a black robe and matching slippers, he emerged from the confines of his room.

He followed the trail of music, for he was still unable to properly see, until he was awash in the stuff. Standing in the doorway of the sitting room, he stared in, his eyes slightly strained, at the young woman occupying the piano bench. Her posture was perfect—spine straight, arms free, just enough room between her and the instrument. She was already dressed in one of her ratty black frocks. Her brown hair was down and kept out of her face with a thick black headband. That hair was curlier than he had originally thought, but that wasn't a bad thing. No, not on her.

Her fingers flew at the ivory keys. No sheet music was set up before her, so her gaze was on her hands. She hadn't noticed his presence, which he used to his advantage to simply watch her for a few minutes until he was fully awake. Then, still utilizing the surprise on his side, he cleared his throat loudly expecting some sort of big reaction. However, she didn't move and she didn't stop. Had she not heard him? He tried it again, but to no avail, so he went to the next level.

"Hey," he muttered, and when still no response came, louder, "Hey!"

The tapping on the keys became lighter so that a proper conversation could ensue without ceasing the music completely. Christine, however, did not turn around or flinch. She kept looking down at her fingers and the keys.

"Hay is for horses, Monsieur," she called at a proper pitch over her music. "Do I look like a horse?"

Erik raised an eyebrow at her gall, but was more amused by it than offended. He came further into the room so that he was in line with her peripheral vision.

"How long has it been since you moved in here, Christine? A week?" he asked casually.

"Yes, sir, I believe so," she answered.

"Yes, and do you know how long I've had this migraine for?" he continued.

"Well, Monsieur, it would be awfully hard for me to know such a thing," she replied unfazed.

"A week!" he almost shouted.

That's when she stopped playing. She finally brought her emerald eyes up to meet his hazel ones. She didn't react to his appearance or mention anything about it. Instead, she held his gaze in all seriousness, waiting for him to make his point.

"Must you insist on waking up the entire country with your playing, Christine?" He was forceful, but not mean.

"Is it that terrible?" she asked emotionlessly.

"No, it is not terrible at all. You are a bit out of practice, but it is not terrible." He paused and shook his head, figuring out she led him off track. "Now, Christine, I must ask you to cease this morning ritual and move it to the afternoon or evening or some time when I am not trying to sleep."

She nodded once. "I understand."

"Good."

He was about to turn around and head back into the bedroom, when she interrupted his pivot.

"Madame Giry wants to take me into town this afternoon to buy a proper gown for Meg's ballet performance tonight," she informed. "Will you be accompanying us?"

"I am not a very avid shopper when it comes to female apparel. In fact, I have no sense in the matter. I would be very poor company under such an occasion, so I must decline," he said truthfully.

There was a pause, then, "I understand. Thank you for allowing me to attend the recital. It is very kind of you."

"There is no need for that, but you are welcome, nonetheless. I probably wouldn't have been able to keep you away even if I had wanted to. You and Meg have become a nice pair."

It was true. Ever since her arrival, Christine and Meg had taken to each other spectacularly. They both had been missing a female peer in their life, and now they had each other. It was a perfect fit. They had become instant best friends. They laughed and joked and gossiped together, as well as stuck up for one another. Erik had actually begun to feel slightly ganged up upon. There was a ration of 3:2 in the women vs. men category of mansion inhabitants, and the fact that Joseph Buquet was rarely seen unless called upon did not quite help the situation.

"That we have," Christine answered.

Erik nodded once and turned to leave. He barely got to the open doorway before the music came back at full force, jarring him slightly. He stopped in mid trek and turned back around. Christine had resumed her original stance and task.

"Christine," he called, "what did we just discuss?"

Without stopping or peering over at him, she reported, "Well, sir, this is the way I see it. You are currently awake. Therefore my playing is disturbing no sleep. Therefore our contract still holds. Unless, that is, you would like to come to some other verbal agreement?"

There was nothing he could say. He probably wouldn't have even been able to produce a word if he had thought of some come back. He was rendered speechless, which was becoming a common thing around this young woman. Instead of even trying a rebuttal, he let his agape jaw gently close and his muscles to lax. She was a tricky one. She had a very good head on her shoulders. However, he had been unaware of how good. Now he turned away defeated, gliding conquered back to his room with naught but the girl's astounding wit within his head.

At the beginning of the day, the count so far was Christine 1, Erik 0.

-----

"Madame Giry, I cannot stress the urgency in which we must depart," Erik called up the curving staircase. "At this rate we will end up arriving at the play's ending, missing Meg in her debut."

"We are almost ready, Monsieur," Madame Giry called back down to him.

Erik pivoted away from the sight of the steps, as if the sight of them upset his stomach. He looked out the open door at the waiting carriage and Joseph Buquet's frame standing next to it. Erik had made sure that the driver had worn his best outfit to take them to the Opera house. He had had the horses well-groomed and primped until they shined. He wanted everything to be perfect for Meg to show how proud he was of her being cast in the lead.

Even he himself had adorned his best suit. It was black, like all of the others, but was finely cut and designed. There was a hint of black silk around the edges, as well as the rim of the matching top hat. He had his shoes shined, and wore his white hand gloves. The cane he carried was specifically for such special occasions. It was long and black, fashioned of the finest wood. There was a small gold bottom and then a gold emblem of a rose on the top. The rose had some splashes of crimson on it, making it completely unique. The crimson matched a real rose, which was tucked into his breast pocket. He had also brushed out his usually unruly black hair so that it matted neatly down. Even the mask hiding the half of his face seemed to make his appearance all the more elegant and important.

Soft footsteps carefully descending the carpeted steps reached his ears as he was straightening out his jacket. It was like the noise had been Heaven sent. He didn't think he would ever hear a more liberating sound as long as he lived. He was antsy, it was more than evident. He just didn't want to miss anything.

"Finally," he projected. He turned to greet the ladies as he continued, "Really, I don't know what could have taken you so long…"

The last word trailed out of Erik's mouth as his jaw dropped slightly. His eyes widened, and he stopped all movement in mid-fuss. His heart had to have stopped for a brief moment, too, because what he saw, what rendered him speechless once again, was entirely breathtaking. Coming slowly down the staircase, taking one step at a time, was Christine Daaé in the most glorious state he had seen her yet.

She had on a jade green dress that did wonders for her form. It hung off the shoulder, revealing smooth, pale skin that made Erik tremble. A sparkling black choker was strung around the base of her neck and matching earrings dangled from her lobes. She had her untamable hair pulled partly back in an antique black clip, but small strands had come loose and fell to the sides of her face. That face…it was made up slightly, perfectly. Light rouge complimented her high cheekbones. Lip cream created a fuller, redder, shinier appearance. There was a little bit of color around her eyes, enhancing their already natural astounding color. In fact, the entire outfit did wonders to those eyes. Through the entire get up, Erik knew it was her expression and the gleam in her eyes that snatched the attention in the room the most. What was there was intriguing and curious. There was brightness and a smile, and one received a strange sensation like she was reading one's thoughts.

Christine stood in front of Erik, expectantly, but not impatiently. It was another awkward moment before the jumble that became his mind had worked itself out into an organized system. She was idle about two steps up still. So he extended his hand out and slightly upward, without saying a word. A small smile crept to her cherry lips, and she fit a black gloved hand easily in his. He assisted her down the last two steps. Even with heels on, he remained at least one head taller than her, side by side.

"You-" Erik began, but had to stop abruptly and clear his throat. He began again, his tongue free and rationality back in his brain. "You look nice," he complimented, acted uninterested.

Christine merely smiled. She knew. She knew what he was really thinking. She knew that he was ensnared in her beauty and elegance and poise and how she held herself like she was part of the elite class instead of having had to live in pretty much a shack of a house. She knew that her appearance had shocked and stunned him in a good way. She knew that he fought with all of his might to keep a tremor that threatened to erupt throughout his entire body because of her mere touch at bay. She knew, but she did not let it known.

"Thank you," she whispered femininely.

Madame Giry, whom he had not even noticed had joined them, interrupted the moment by slapping a shawl over Christine's shoulders. Erik and Christine's hands fell apart. She adjusted the overcoat herself for maximum warmth, while Madame Giry adorned her own.

"Shall we go then?" Madame Giry asked.

"Yes, the carriage is waiting."

Erik ushered the women outside and closed the door behind him. Madame Giry had already taken her seat within the carriage and Christine was in the process of being assisted up and in. He watched her back disappear into the darkness of the interior then looked to Joseph Buquet, who was red in the face from a massive blush. When Erik approached, the driver pulled him aside swiftly.

"My word, sir, but tha' is some beauty. Why, if she'd ever look my way-"

Erik held up a hand to stop Joseph before he revealed too much information. He shook his head once, trying to get any image remnants out of his mind before it was too late.

"You have worked for me for a long time, Joseph, and you are very well in what you do and the secrets you keep. So I am going to pretend I did not hear any of that."

Joseph nodded. "Sorry, sir."

"Yes, we must practice some self-control," Erik continued as if he hadn't heard the man. "Anyway, drive on. We don't want to be late." And he jumped into the carriage.

The entire ride there, Christine couldn't help watching the scenery that passed by outside the window. Erik couldn't help staring at the side of her face. Once, when he caught the stare being projected at him by Madame Giry, he stopped. She had become protective, like a mother over her daughter. Well it was true that those two had grown close, also, not just Christine and Meg. In fact, Christine was very contagious. She had a personality and an air about her that made it almost, if not completely, impossible to detest her. Perhaps it was her innocence or her naivety. Or perhaps it was her underlying strength and courage that only became apparent after close scrutiny.

They arrived at the Opera house, and Christine was awed by the majestically dressed couples entering the grand building she viewed from the safety of the carriage. Not only that, but her eyes traveled up the edifice of the building, over every detail, over every part. She soaked up the grandeur that was the Opera Populaire, and Erik was sure she was picturing herself up on stage within its confines and singing her lungs out to a sold out audience.

As soon as she stepped outside, though, that air of regality replaced the awe. She held her chin high and acted as if this was normal routine for her. Erik had her arm, and he distinctly noticed envious glares shot his way and lustful stares shot Christine's way. Something inside of him was proud, while something else was upset at how they looked at her, and another just wanted everyone to mind their own business.

Walking inside, Christine was unable to hold her true feelings back any longer. The place was so beautifully decorated and so much more elegant than anything she had ever seen that she couldn't help commenting on whatever caught her eye, which turned out to be basically everything. Erik smiled at her spirits and her inability to look on without pointing or exclaiming at each chance she got. Even though she would have loved to have just remained out in the foyer the entire time and fully take in everything there was, they made it to their designated seats in box five.

"Do you attend performances here often?" Christine questioned him after they had gotten comfortable.

"Often enough," Erik replied. "This box is never rented out to anyone but me."

"If I had my own personal box, I would be at the Opera every weekend," Christine breathed dreamily.

Erik smiled again, but was unable to make any reply because at that moment the lights began to dim and the orchestra struck up.


	2. Standing Ovation

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Yes, I intentionally put a bit of modern slang into the first chapter. I apologize. An internal debate arose on whether or not I should add that in there, and I decided to do it for the sake of that little part of the story. Just for a reassurance, you all should know that I plan for it never to occur again. I just wanted a funny little confrontation between Erik and Christine. Thank you for all of your other suggestions, comments, etc. I will do my best to continue to write to your standards and entertain you. Thanks!

**Section 2**

- Standing Ovation

Needless to say, the ballet was a success! Meg's debut went off with a smash. She was the hit of the show. Her grace and posture and emotion stole the audience's attention. She put her heart into every movement, every dance sequence. And when the cast appeared for final bows, Meg completed hers to a raucous of applause and the entire audience standing in respect. A large bushel of roses were handed to her right on the very stage, and she swore she had never felt more delighted in her whole life than at that very moment.

Christine and Madame Giry could barely contain themselves as they waited for the dancer after the performance. Their eyes were locked on the stage door, waiting for it to open and a familiar face to appear. Erik, on the other hand, remained a few feet away, leaning casually against the wall. His head was bowed in patience, and it seemed as if he felt indifferent to the show. Christine would surely have said something to him if she wasn't so distracted by her delight and Meg's genius.

Finally their desires gave way to reality. The door opened and Meg emerged at a giddy pace. She ran into Christine's and her mother's open arms and the three women were encompassed in a loving, proud embrace.

"Meg, you were fantastic! Absolutely fantastic!" Christine declared.

"You did beautifully, my darling," Madame Giry complimented. "I had tears in my eyes the entire time."

Meg giggled, stepping back to properly peer into their elated faces. A big grin revealed her pearly whites. She held a bouquet in one hand and a small bag of her essentials in the other. Even though she had adorned the everyday dress she had worn there, her face and hair were still excessively made up, making her appear older, but also somewhat doll-like. The shine in her eyes outdid the shine from the paint, though.

"Thank you," she beamed then her sapphire eyes traveled over to Erik.

He still hadn't moved from his position when she had first emerged, but now he slowly lifted his head and gazed over at her. Her smile gradually decreased in size as she stepped forward one foot at a time toward him. He waited until she was right in front of him before relinquishing his reliance on the wall behind him. He stood to his full height, towering over her.

For a moment, neither of them moved nor spoke. Then Erik's eyes fell to his breast pocket with the rose popping out of it. He took the flower gently between two fingers and held it forward. Twisting it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger, he examined it for a couple seconds longer. Meg's eyes fell to the small blossom and moved as it moved. Then he held it out further, pointing it toward Meg in a silent surrender. Meg looked from the flower to Erik, questioningly and hesitantly. Her hand crept toward the rose until her fingers had taken hold of the small stem, just above Erik's gloved fingers.

"You did well, Meg," he said quietly. "I am very proud."

Then the flower passed into Meg's hands. She continued to look down at it for another few seconds before clutching it close to her body and peering up into his face with teary eyes. A big grin spread across her face. Subsequently, in her usual way, she jumped on Erik, wrapping her thin arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Erik was so taken aback that he could not react in time to avoid the encounter. Instead, his eyes went wide and his body went stiff. He was at a complete loss for words.

A small giggle echoed from a few feet away. Christine couldn't help laughing at the expression on his face. Usually he was so serious and composed. But suddenly put out of his element, it was amusing to see how he reacted. A pleasant smile rested on her face as she watched the odd couple. They were so opposite, yet it would be most difficult to ever separate them. She knew that they both relied on each other in some unknown way. To her, it seemed like in Meg's presence Erik became more…human. It was definitely due to the sibling bond they had adopted.

"Thank you, Monsieur," Meg announced. "Your approval means more to me than any in the world."

Before he could untie his tongue, Meg had released him and gone back to her mother's side. Erik blinked at the girl a couple times then caught Christine's gaze. Her face was alight, still, with the joy of his startled expression and the scene in general. Seeing this glow in her cheeks caused a smile to escape onto Erik's face, too. He only allowed it to remain for a second before clearing his throat into his fist and enfolding his hands behind his back.

"Now then, shall we go for a drink?"

-----

The café around the corner was always busy after performances. Audience members, cast, crew all gathered inside for a nice nighttime beverage or snack. The building was quaint, but spacious. There was a patio outside with tables and chairs and decorative potted plants. Lanterns ensured this part was always accessible. The interior had similar furniture arranged to occupy the most people in a comfortable setting. There was more decorative vegetation in unusable space and artwork on the walls. A counter was shoved along the wall opposite the front door. It was set up with various treats and beverage menus. It was self-serve and self-seating.

This particular café just happened to be two stories. The staircase curved slightly with a hand railing that matched the black metal of the seating. Though the overall look of the café was fairly sophisticated, customers need not dress in the same manner in order to attend. The atmosphere, for that particular evening, was gay and hearty. The building, inside and out, was bursting with conversation and laughter. It had filled up quicker than normal after that evening's ballet performance because the show had been so splendid it had put every spectator, every dancer, every musician, and every employee of the Opera Populaire in a good mood. Since everyone was feeling so delighted, no one had been ready to head home. Instead, their risen spirits put them in a social state.

Erik had no trouble reserving a table. He was known well within the café, so a special table was always left empty should he stop in on a whim. Though he hadn't graced the building with his presence in quite sometime, there was no doubt in recognizing his face the moment he stepped through the door.

"Monsieur Erik!" the owner, who was on duty, ejaculated excitedly. "I wondered when I would be seeing you next. You never come in anymore."

"Good evening, André," Erik greeted with less enthusiasm. "It has been a long time."

The man came out from behind the counter. André was an older man with grey streaks threatening to take over his red hair. He was on the chubby side, and shorter than Erik by a couple inches. He had kind light blue eyes that wrinkled at the edges whenever he smiled or laughed. His cheeks had a natural red blush to them and his skin possessed a tan tint. The rest of his wrinkles were age and experience lines. Upon meeting him, it was clear how the café had got its friendly reputation and even its name. Being the founder and owner, the café was respectively titled _Café d'André_, or just plain _André's_ for the regulars.

"Usual table then?" André inquired.

"Is there any other?" Erik questioned wittily back.

The owner chuckled to himself and led the party of four toward the back of the café. In one of the corners, amongst a sea of a crowd, was an empty table. Red velvet ropes maintained its availability from any trespassers. It was a relaxing location under any other quieter circumstances with a small window equipped with a small curtain. It was a medium sized table, perfect for the amount in the party. The correct number of chairs was already stationed around the circular surface.

"Do you come here often?" Christine asked, sliding into one of the far seats.

"I'll show my face every now and then," Erik replied nonchalantly.

"Every now and then?" André interrupted with a laugh, helping everyone get settled. "Why, Mademoiselle, he used to frequent the café like it was his second home. Some days we couldn't get him to leave."

Christine smiled at Erik, who shot André a knowing stare. He couldn't contain the upward curl of the edges of his lips, though. There was so much she had yet to learn about this man. His mystery seemed to grow with every new bit that arose.

"I know Monsieur Erik and Mademoiselle Meg and Madame Giry, but I have yet to meet you," André addressed Christine, who quickly came out of her daydream.

"Oh, my name is Christine." She offered her hand. "It is very nice to meet you, Monsieur André."

The owner took her hand and kissed it tenderly, and while still touching her fingers replied, "There is no need for formalities here, my dear." He released her hand and bowed. "It is my pleasure." He was charming. Some things never changed. "So the first round is on the house, but I cannot promise anything after that. I'll do the honors of delivering the usual drinks myself."

"Monsieur André, you spoil us," Meg giggled.

She had actually gone to the café in recent years more than Erik, and her and André had developed a nice relationship. He winked and left them alone. Christine couldn't help peering around. She wasn't used to fanciful surroundings that she seemed exposed to on a regular basis nowadays. There was much to get used to, but she wasn't complaining.

André delivered four cups of steaming tea or coffee, depending on the drinker's preference. Christine found the contents of hers to be something she had never tasted before, but then again she wasn't familiar with what was served in this class. Her taste buds tingled with flavor. She felt as if she couldn't savor it enough before it began to fade. She took another sip and tried to figure out the blend. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she thought she could identify a cherry flavor mixed with some chocolate or vanilla, or both. It was possibly one of the most delectable tastes she had ever experienced.

Meg struck up a conversation about how her ballet instructor reacted to the performance. Christine listened with joy at every complimentary word, but surveyed the crowd at the same time. With all of the people in that area of the café, half or more were darting glances their way. More specifically, they were darting glances Meg's way. It was obvious they recognized her from the show. If everything continued in this direction, Meg was sure to be a smashing hit within months. It would be little over a year before the entire world knew of her success.

Christine's eyes fell across the room to the other corner. She hardly noticed how impolitely she stared, but her gaze was absent. She vaguely knew that she was taking sips, let alone what she was looking at. However, the coffee sparked her senses once again and she blinked a couple times to take in what was in her view. There was a man, a lone man. At least she thought it was a man—shadows fell across every distinguishable characteristic, and at that distance it was hard to see any detail within the darkness. All she saw was his right hand as light fell across it every time he reached for his mug. Most eye-catching about the man's hand was the large diamond studded ring that adorned his ring finger. It had to be worth more than her life, and he had to be someone of great importance.

She also noticed that, unlike other people, he stared freely at Meg without averting his gaze every now and then in order to not seem impolite. Perhaps he didn't care. Perhaps he was too important to care. Or perhaps, she realized, he didn't even know his gaze was unceasing. Maybe he was so absorbed in his own thoughts, like she had been moments ago, that he didn't recognize what he was doing. She decided that that had to be the answer, and thought nothing more of it. Her attention was called back to the table at that moment, anyway.

"Christine," Erik called again.

He had been trying to get her attention for a few attempts already. Christine's head snapped to the side Erik sat on. She blinked a couple times, smiling innocently. She was a little embarrassed and felt rude. She shouldn't have mentally dozed off like that.

"Yes? I'm sorry, I must have gotten distracted," she excused.

"Would you like a refill, my treat?" Erik asked quieter.

Christine looked down into her cup, perplexed. She hadn't even realized, but she had finished off the liquid and saw right to the bottom of the mug. She slid it toward him, nodding.

"Please, if it's no bother."

"None at all," Erik replied, standing and collecting all of the cups. "And when I return, we will toast to Meg's success."


	3. Frozen in Time

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** It is true that the André who owns the café is taken from the André from the musical, despite some differing physical traits and such. Good catch. So I like bringing that certain someone new into this chapter, even though it may seem slightly contradictory to some things that were stated in the first story. However, I tried to make up for that as much as possible by having the process of his appearance be difficult and whatnot. Anyway, I know that his presence probably isn't as appreciated by the readers, but I just enjoyed writing it. So along with the story! By the way, don't hate Erik. He has his reasons. You'll see what I mean, and I hope this entire note made sense. If not, oh well. Ok! So on with the show!

**Section 3**

- Frozen in Time

The rest of the night went by without much more excitement. After the seconds on drinks, the part of four remained at the table in conversation for a little while longer. Then they took the carriage back to the mansion where they were all exhausted enough to go straight to bed. It had been an exhilarating day for everyone. Sleep came swift, deep, comfortable, relaxing.

The next morning, Erik joined Meg and Christine at the breakfast table. They were already chattering away, waiting the breakfast Madame Giry had promised them. She had refused any assistance, saying it was her pleasure based on the activities from the night before. Erik didn't think the two girls could ever run out of things to say to one another. They were always at it whenever they were together. He didn't understand how they could do it, but then again he had never been a very social person.

Sliding into his normal chair, the girls persisted with their conversation, not even acknowledging his presence. He wouldn't have been surprised if they hadn't even been aware he had arrived. However, that wasn't the case because they gradually drew their two-way topic to a close in order to include him.

"Monsieur," Christine addressed, leaning across the table toward him, "why is it you ceased visiting the café from last night? It seemed that you and André got on very well."

It was a completely innocent, non-threatening question, so long as he stuck to the basics of what happened. Erik touched upon it, "It does seem odd and abrupt to outsiders, but I had my reasons. I became immersed in work and tasks. It started with an ill spell that had befallen me. Once I had recovered, I just didn't return. I would have said something to André, but there was no telling that I would become unwell."

"Well you seem in perfect health now. Are you going to frequent the café more often between cases?" she persisted.

"Perhaps I will," Erik said impartially. "Who knows?"

Madame Giry had finished her concoction in the kitchen and bustled into the room with a tray piled with food. Plates were already around the dining table to relieve her from that much. She set the tray on the table then proceeded to arrange the serving dishes of food in the center of the settings. She had Erik's newspaper along with the breakfast.

"I think you should," Christine continued as Madame Giry did this. "It is such a nice place and Monsieur André is simply wonderful."

Erik glanced peripherally at her. She started to help herself to the platter. Then he picked up the newspaper when it was set in front of him and opened it noisily to read. He heard scrapes of china and chewing and knew that the three ladies were indulging in the nourishment. There was also a quiet conversation occurring. He was content with the paper, cup of tea, and muteness.

Soon the sounds grew distant. A section of the newspaper drew in all of Erik's attention. The label across the top read "Missing" and below that were a bunch of pictures with small descriptive paragraphs next to them. Surveying each one of these, he realized that a majority of the missing persons were children, and all were within relatively close dates of one another. He had to have read through each about a hundred times, rechecking the dates and ages and location they were last seen. Even the locations were near enough. All of this coincidental information just didn't sit right with him.

"Did you come across an interesting article, sir?" questioned Madame Giry.

Erik hadn't heard the cease of gentle clinking and the cease of the soft conversation. He almost had missed her addressing him. However, still engrossed as he was, he was able to answer her. His eyes remained on the page, moving with each line of text, memorizing each face.

"Actually, yes, there is something most intriguing in today's paper," he said slowly.

"Is it related to entertainment in anyway?" Meg asked.

"No, I doubt you would find any pleasure in this, Meg," he continued absently. "It seems strange—all of these child kidnappings."

"There has been quite a lot in the past week," Madame Giry added. "Signs are up all around town."

"Anyone who would kidnap a child is despicable," Christine commented, hugging herself and making a sour face.

"The number of missing children is astounding, but even more so is the frequency and location of all of them."

"How do you mean?"

Erik lowered the paper so that the section was visible to all three listeners. "Well they were all abducted within a small proximity of one another. Not only that, the dates in which they'd gone missing are only a couple days apart at the most. Some are exactly the same." There was a long silence. His voice grew quieter. "All of their faces are frozen in time. They will never know the process of time."

"That is very disturbing," Madame Giry muttered.

She shook her head in disapproval, turning her gaze away from the paper. Suddenly her eyes went wide and she jumped from her seat.

"Oh, Meg, you must get on your way. You'll be late for your ballet lessons."

Meg shot up with as much force. "You're right, thank you, mama." She hurried over to her mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Goodbye. I will be home in time for dinner." Waving to the rest of the group, she scurried out of the room. The next minute, the front door was heard closing.

"Well," Madame Giry said, wiping her hands on her white apron, "enough of this dreadful talk. There is work to be done."

She began to pick up the empty dishes and load them onto the tray. Christine immediately stood and assisted her. The girl had agreed to help around the house, and she had kept that promise since the second day. Although she was usually given the less stressful tasks, she still accomplished each with precision and timeliness. It only took a minute until the tray was full. Christine had it in her hands. The weight of it was pretty great. They wanted to get all of the dirty dishes into the sink in one trip. She was walking around the table when the doorbell rang.

"Oh, dear." Madame Giry swept the tray out of Christine's hands before she could contest in anyway. "Christine, answer the door, while I take care of these dishes."

Madame Giry hurried into the kitchen to avoid any attempts on Christine's part to switch the tasks. She would always try to assist in the more difficult tasks, but Madame Giry seldom gave in, or else after much debate on the subject. So Christine removed herself from the room and went to the front of the house.

Erik sipped his tea, staring at the next page in the paper, which was still flat on the table. He tuned into what was occurring in the next room, though, instead of paying attention to the print. The door opened and Christine greeted in a polite manner. However, her voice trailed off in seemingly astonishment. Then a male voice boomed loudly throughout the entire house. Erik knew he recognized it from somewhere, but he couldn't place it. It interested him enough to set down his teacup, push away from the dining table, and go to the entrance hall.

"Christine!" the male voice bellowed. There was slight muffle when he spoke next. "I've found you. I'm so relieved." Again, it became clear. "I was so worried. I didn't know what happened to you."

Erik stopped by the stairs and leaned against the wall. He was within sight and hearing, but far enough to not be obtrusive. He recognized the young man. The dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, the finely fashioned suit, obviously belonged to the man that had been with Monsieur Daaé, Christine's father. He remembered the irritation he had received from the gentleman's presence alone. It came fluttering back to him. Why was he here? What did he want? More importantly, though, how did he get here?

"Raoul, what are you doing here?" Christine asked robotically.

"I came to see you. I came for you," the young man explained.

"I told you that I had found a place to live and that you needn't bother with anything," she whispered swiftly.

"I just had to see you, though." He put his arms around hers. "You can't expect me to just fall out of your life since your father died."

Christine visibly started slightly. The subject was still rough for her. It was unbelievable, to Erik, that he should have even brought it up. However, he had never seen how these two interacted. This could have been normal. Somehow he figured it was for the most part. Raoul seemed to mistaken the cringe and pulled her closer.

"Our lives are intertwined, Christine. Ever since I retrieved your red scarf from the water, I knew that our relationship would not be one separated by any easy means, if at all."

That was all Erik could take before he felt like he was going to be sick. He cleared his throat casually. Raoul jumped backward, releasing Christine. Erik couldn't help the pleasure he took in seeing the frustration and anger that appeared in Raoul's expression. Christine, on the other hand, turned slowly. It was like she had known the exact moment he had gotten there. She didn't smile at his presence, though. There was hurt in her watery eyes. He was sure she would have started to cry if the topic of her father had been touched on anymore than it already had been.

"Monsieur," she whispered, but that was all she got out before Erik approached and interrupted her.

"Who is our caller, Christine?" he asked, a dark tone in his voice. "It appears as if you two are acquaintances." He paused, stopping in front of her. "Or perhaps more…"

Stepping aside, and ushering toward the young man with her hand, her eyes downcast, she introduced, "This is Raoul de'Chagny, sir. He is an old family friend."

Erik looked at Raoul then down to Christine, who had bravely raised her gaze only barely. Erik was acting much more harshly than usual. His eyes burned with a fire she had never seen before. She knew that it was due to the new face at the door instead of actual anger at her. Despite this, though, he looked down at her with an intensity that caused her to shrink.

"I thought you understood upon arrival my main rule of no visitors," Erik scolded.

"It is my fault," Raoul defended. Erik turned slowly on the young man. "She did not even know I was coming."

"And how did you even get here?" he asked slowly.

Raoul swallowed. "Well let me tell you that it was not an easy task."

"Yes, and I like it that way."

Raoul swallowed again. "I found a small scrap of paper with your name and some information about you Monsieur Daaé wrote on it. After asking around for about a week, and digging around, I got the location of your residence." He looked to Christine. "Christine never informed me of where she was going, just that she would be well-taken care of and I needn't worry. She really underestimates my feelings toward her if she thought I would just go by her word without seeing that everything was in order myself. I even offered to provide for her, but she insisted against it."

"Smart girl," Erik mumbled low, but audible.

Raoul's gaze shifted back to him. "I shall take my leave, Monsieur, and know this. I will keep your location secret, but I will not abandon Christine." He turned to Christine. "I will see you again shortly." Then to Erik, he simply nodded, and turned and left.

Erik gently closed the front door then turned on Christine, who still had her head bowed toward the floor. She was silent with her hands folded neatly in front of her. There was a silence between them as he just stared at her then he pivoted in the opposite direction.

"It's time to work," he ordered quietly, but not harshly.

With that, he stomped off into his office, leaving a rather frazzled Christine behind.


	4. Dinner for Two

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Hello all! I just wanted to apologize to whatever is going on with the third chapter. I don't know if it is the website's doing or somehow my doing, but I heard that there are problems occurring when trying to view it. Anyway, sorry about that. Hopefully it will fix itself soon.

**Section 4**

- Dinner for Two

The day passed swiftly with neither Erik nor Christine seeing one another again since that morning's encounter with Raoul de'Chagny. Erik had remained locked up in his study. Now and then the violin could be heard, but it would last only minutes before a sharp frustrated note ended the tune. Christine had been busy about tasks in the house that needed to get done. Every so often, when passing by the study door, she would stop and stare at the blank wood as if longing for something hidden beyond it. Then she would walk away from the spot and go about her chores like nothing had happened.

Madame Giry, paying witness, would sigh and shake her head. Every day it seemed those two got into some sort of argument, but never had it ended with mere silence and ignorance. Their banter was always traced with humor or playfulness. There was never tension or awkwardness or strained feelings during or afterward. The quiet atmosphere that had befallen the entire house was bursting with all of those things and more.

Madame Giry worked across from Christine hand washing some sheets and towels. The girl had her eyes downcast on the fabric in her hands. She kept her mouth shut, which was very unusual. Normally, during any task that involved both of them, she couldn't keep quiet. Now it was just the opposite. Madame Giry found the silence almost unbearable. She wanted to learn more about what was causing this strange behavior between Christine and Erik.

"You are oddly quiet today, Christine," Madame Giry brought up as casually as possible.

It took a moment before Christine could respond. The intrusion of speaking had caught her off guard and she needed a second to compose herself and properly answer. Her gaze had shot up toward Madame Giry, who had intentionally dropped hers before asking the question.

"Odd? Is it really so odd that I am not boisterous?" Christine answered defensively, yet nonchalantly.

"It is when you normally are so." Both women kept their gazes focused on the water in the large bucket and the material they rubbed roughly against the wash boards. "Are you in a fair mood?"

"I'm just trying to concentrate on the task."

A heavy silence fell between them. Madame Giry knew that Christine would not disclose anymore information. She was stubborn, and she wasn't about to complain about the new lifestyle and family she had been welcomed into. That quality about her was impressive. Madame Giry ventured a glance at Christine, who still had her head bowed. She could feel the discontent radiating from her. However, she would give Christine this one and didn't even think about bringing the subject up again. She lowered her eyes and allowed the chore to continue in peace.

-----

Needless to say, dinner that evening could only be described as awkward and uncomfortable. Erik would not have attended at all if Madame Giry hadn't basically dragged him out of his study. The dining room had been empty when he took up his usual seat. But with the food and tea, Christine emerged from within the confines of the kitchen. She hesitated and was about to turn right back around, but Madame Giry had blocked her way of escape.

"Go set the food down, you silly girl," Madame Giry told her.

Christine did so.

"Sit and eat. I'll tend to the mess in the kitchen," Madame Giry then informed.

Christine couldn't complain. She would have gone to the other end of the long table, but Madame Giry pulled out the chair perpendicular to Erik's.

"My, how strange both of you are acting today," she said on her way back into the kitchen. "One would assume someone had died at how somber your moods are."

Now the two of them had been sitting in strained silence, listening to the soft tick of the grandfather clock from the hall and slowly eating the food on their plates. This had been going on for quite some time. It seemed even longer due to the lack of conversation. However, neither of them budged. Acknowledging the other would mean admitting defeat at this point in the game.

Nonetheless, when the clock struck the next time, Erik couldn't contain commenting more to himself than to her, "Meg is late. I wonder what could be keeping her."

Christine raised her emerald eyes to Erik's bent frame. He huddled over his plate in order to avoid seeing her. Hearing him speak first let her feel safer talking. Being quiet all day was difficult. And without seeing him, they hadn't been able to work anything out. She was ready to face that head on now that he had broken the ice with the parting of his lips and vibration of his vocal cords.

She cleared her throat lightly, pushing food around the dish with a fork. Erik glanced up, but for just a second before averting his eyes again. She attempted to sort out everything that had gathered in her head over the course of the entire day. It took a couple of minutes before she found what she wanted to say.

She dropped her fork noisily against the china, grabbing his attention, and rapidly said, "I cannot read your mind."

Erik paused, blinking a couple times. It didn't register. He had expected Christine to say something eventually, and was not at all surprised at that. He just didn't understand what she was trying to get across.

"Pardon me?" he asked.

In the same fast, yet quiet style, she explained, "All day long you shut yourself up in that office of yours. You say nothing to me. You don't even take the time to properly apologize for flying off the handle this morning."

"Apologize?" Erik cut in.

However, Christine continued as if he had not just broken her train of her thought. "Meanwhile, I don't know what to think. I don't know whether or not you are angry with me or what I could have done wrong." She finally brought her eyes up to his for the first time since the rant began. Sincerely and slower, she stressed, "I cannot read your mind. You must talk to me."

Silence fell yet again that day. Erik allowed himself a minute to come up with a rebuttal. He shifted in his seat, feeling the stare cast by Christine resembled that of a judge's. His resolve broke down from the emotion behind her voice and eyes. He was uncomfortable and ashamed. He knew he had been wrong to treat Christine the way he had that morning, but he was also too stubborn to go down without a slight fight.

"Privacy is very important to me, Christine," he stated slowly. "The more people who are able to just waltz into my house, the more that privacy is diminished."

"Raoul's appearance surprised me just as much as it surprised you. Believe me, I have no intention of ever changing you or upsetting you."

Erik looked at her with a furrowed brow as if trying to examine her or figure her out. Genuineness was all that he could find there. His heart thumped harder in his chest and he felt like a blush could creep across his face. It didn't, though. He wouldn't have been surprised if time had stopped all around them. His breathing muffled his ears.

"No intention of changing me…?" he echoed inaudibly.

Christine didn't react. The next second he shook he his head and resumed his normal composure and mind. All of the anger and ill emotions had drained from his body. He felt heavy and weakened all of a sudden. His head turned away from the girl. He couldn't look at her anymore. He leaned his elbow on the table and kneaded his forehead.

"Do not worry yourself over the events of this morning, Christine. My reaction was purely of shock and misunderstanding," he told her defeated.

That was as close to an apology as he could come. She knew this and did not complain. Instead, her expression softened, and her own feelings were lifted. She relaxed and pushed slightly closer to him.

"Monsieur, if I worry it is over you. You hide behind that door and these strong emotions." Adding in a whisper, "You hide behind that mask." He didn't react to the line, probably not hearing it. So she continued. "As long as you are content, Monsieur, a smile will be on my face."

He stopped, and she leaned into the table, trying to move into his view, with a small smile on her face. She caught his eye. He turned his head in her direction, allowing her to sit up straight. The smile remained in place. He couldn't place it, but whenever she smiled, he couldn't help doing the same. His spirits always became lighter. His mood always became happier. What was it about this woman that changed his personality so?

Erik smiled genuinely, which produced an even bigger grin on Christine's face. She sat back, upright, pleased with the change in attitude. This was how she tried to live: in bliss and happiness. Life was meant to be enjoyed. It was short and temporary. There was no time to be miserable.

"That's what I like to see," Christine said. She stood up and began collecting the used dinnerware. "I think it is time to clean up. It seems Madame Giry has discovered some preoccupation for the couple hours this dinner has lasted. I must join her in the kitchen and remind her that eating is not that time-consuming of a task." Christine disappeared still smiling.

Erik slowly looked forward, his lips still upturned. He propped both elbows on the table and entangled his fingers in a praying clasp. Leaning slightly against his fists with his mouth, he became lost in his thoughts. He was still unable to fathom the magic possessed in the small frame of this young woman. What made her eyes shine with so much life? What caused her presence to radiate through the entire room, even if it was racked with crowds and crowds of people? Why was she so…


	5. Missing

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Sorry if this chapter seems kind of rushed. I didn't try to make it that way, it just ended up sounding kind of like it. More interesting stuff is coming, so stay tuned. Thanks for the replies and keep 'em coming!

**Section 5**

- Missing

Erik awoke with a start to loud, obnoxious banging on his bedroom door. He couldn't figure out what was going on at first, but the urgent rapping continued, quickly waking him from his daze. He got up lazily, annoyed, and took his time finding and adorning his robe and slippers. He replaced the mask on his face before heading toward the raucous. If it wasn't the piano, it was the banging. Could he never get proper sleep in this house?

"I'm coming!" he called. He unlocked the door and flung it open in obvious irritation. "Yes? What is it?"

Madame Giry didn't waste any time. She flew past Erik, into his bedroom, and pivoted to confront him. Her hair had loosened slightly from its normal tight bun. The expression on her face was of horror and concern. Her entire manner was frantic and disorderly. She kneaded her hands in impatience.

"Meg is gone, Monsieur." Her voice was hoarse from worry.

"Well doesn't she have ballet lessons today? Is it that time already?" Erik brushed off, unimpressed.

"No, sir, I mean she never came home last night!" Madame Giry pursued.

"What do you mean she never came home last night?" he questioned in hopes of getting a firmer grasp on the situation.

Madame Giry grabbed his hand and dragged him out into the hall at a brisk pace. He was almost unable to keep up at the suddenness at which she committed this action. He was still half asleep and trying to wrap his mind around what had happened. She didn't cease or let up until they were standing in Meg's bedroom.

Erik felt immediately awkward. All of the women's rooms were forbidden to him, he had told himself. He knew slim to none about the female person because of the little personal experience he had. He didn't know how to act other than standing there in complete embarrassment. He tried not to look around at what was there. Instead, he stared at Madame Giry.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, trying to conceal the uncomfortable tone in his voice.

"Her bed was never slept in last night. Her things are not here. She never came home last night," Madame Giry tensed.

Now he had no choice. Erik looked around to Meg's room. It was colored a light pastel and very organized and clean. There were decorative items strung from the full length mirror and vanity. Trinkets littered every surface. They were pleasant items, some of glass, some of ceramic. There were a couple delicate porcelain dolls sitting on top of a shelf. A brown teddy bear, slightly worn with age, was propped up against the pillows of her bed. The comforter was a deeper shade of the colored walls, lacy and neat with a floral pattern. And despite the single nightgown folded over the end of the mattress, Madame Giry was right. There was no sign Meg had inhabited the room in the last twenty-four hours.

"Monsieur," she continued quietly, tears coming to her eyes, "I don't know what to do. You know she always comes home after practice. Where else could she be? She would never cause us worry like this."

Erik turned toward the older woman. He grasped her hands in his as comfortingly as possible. He looked into her brown eyes, mustering up as much condolences as he could muster.

"I know how hard her disappearance is for you, Madame, but you must not fret. You will make yourself ill, and that won't be of any help in this situation."

There was silence. Her lips quivered with an attempt to pull herself together. Her muscles tensed and she held herself up with a frigid, unfeeling, yet sorrowful air. She tried to be strong, but with her daughter missing it seemed almost impossible to yield such results. She needed Meg back, and she had to have hope that Meg would be back.

"You must find her, Monsieur," Madame Giry commanded just above a whisper. "You must bring her back to me." She searched his face. "Please, I beg of you. It is Meg who is missing."

-----

Only a couple hours later, Erik found himself in the carriage on the route to the Opera house. It was only logical to travel to the place where Meg was supposed to be last. He would be able to trace anywhere else she could have gone after that from there, and perhaps this would turn out to be less of a dire matter than it seemed to be. Though he held his composure within the confines of the coach, deep down he contemplated everything about this case. Yes, it was about Meg. So yes, that meant this was his first priority. Like Madame Giry had said before he had gone back to get dressed and start the search, this was Meg who was missing. It was not some random assignment. Meg, the one who always greeted him with such enthusiasm and life; Meg, who looked upon the world with optimism and joy; Meg, who brought that happiness out in everyone around her. This Meg was missing and Erik couldn't just sit back and not do anything about it. He was more than determined to retrieve her.

Erik chewed on his thumb, while deep in thought. He rested back against the crimson cushion, rocking gently back and forth with the motion of the carriage. One foot was up on the opposite seat, and his posture was something to frown at. He was anxious despite the lax position. He needed to do something. He needed results.

The carriage pulled up in front of the Opera Populaire, and Erik immediately jumped out. He strode up the steps, gripping his cane tightly, and burst through the front doors. He wasn't surprised to see the entrance hall pretty much empty. It was getting on to late morning, so everyone was busy rehearsing. That was good, though. Then he knew exactly where to find Meg's ballet coach. He went through the doors leading to the performance hall. It appeared strange when not gallantly lit up to accept the posh audience. Straight ahead, though, moving across the stage, was the ballet troupe, and he headed straight for them.

They continued their dance, until one by one they started to spot him and slowly draw to a halt. The man assisting on the piano stopped when Erik mounted the stage. All of the girls huddled to one side, whispering madly about the strange man's appearance. He was able to identify the woman in charge of it all by the uniform she wore and the apparent age difference.

"You intrude upon my rehearsal, Monsieur. Is there something I can help you with?" she asked, approaching him, as well, with a rather angry tone.

"I would like information regarding a certain student of yours, Madame," Erik demanded.

"I am not at liberty to discuss any of my dancers with strangers. So if you do not mind…" She swept her arm out to usher him off of her stage.

"I inquire about Meg Giry," he interrupted. "I am her patron."

The woman let her arm fall into a cross over her chest. She shifted weight, looking skeptically at him. "Then that makes two of us. I would also like to inquire about Meg Giry and her whereabouts. She is very late for practice."

"So she never came in today?" Erik pursued.

"No. The last time I saw her was yesterday. She said her farewells at the end of the lesson and left for home. She was doing so well, and to not show up for a day of rehearsal is looked down upon. She will have to be disciplined for this."

"Do not make any promises on that, Madame," Erik whispered, slightly threateningly. "Her absence may not be voluntary."

The woman's arms dropped slowly to her sides. She stared at Erik, her eyes widening, as various possibilities ran through her head. Her face dropped its cold, strict appearance. He could tell that she was getting an idea of the actual situation going on here. However, he didn't want to alarm her, so he didn't confirm any of the hypotheses growing within the woman's mind.

Louder, he proclaimed, "I would like to see everywhere Mademoiselle Giry was yesterday. It is imperative."

The woman nodded once, never taking her eyes from him. "Well we always use this stage, Monsieur, and the dressing rooms are only for the divas, so the girls get ready in a single room backstage. Other than that, there would be no other place for her to utilize within the building."

"I appreciate the disclosure, Madame, and I will allow you to return to your practice."

With a bow, he strode backstage to the designated dressing room. It was a big space, probably the biggest one out of all of the options. There were several vanities and full length mirrors, but lacked much of any sitting area. Instead of a wardrobe, there was merely a rack for all of the costumes. Anything else plus all of the girls would have created a very cramped environment.

Erik walked around inspecting the surfaces of the vanity desks and the floors beneath them. He glanced through the costumes hanging on the metal rack. Nothing seemed to be suspiciously out of order. It was a normal dressing room. This wasn't where she had gone missing. He had his doubts about the room being the scene of the crime before he had even entered it. There would have been too many girls around and she wouldn't have been able to remain afterward with her instructor breathing down her neck.

Instead, he followed the back way out until he was in the side alley. He figured that anything that could have happened would have been when Meg was leaving the Opera house. It would have been dark and desolate. She might have forgotten something inside the dressing room, so exited without accompaniment. He also knew that the perimeter around the building was swept up and cleaned in the night in order to look its best for passersby during the day. He decided to check the trash cans for any significant clue in case it had been removed from the scene.

So at the first can, Erik carefully began to rifle through the heap. It was a disgusting task, and it took him all day to thoroughly get through the three similar buckets. As he came to the end, he had found absolutely nothing worth confiscating. Frustrated, he turned away from the cans. He realized that he could have easily missed something in the mass of garbage, but he just couldn't nit pick it all. In a flurry of hotheaded emotion, he kicked over the four canisters, sending their contents flying over the alley floor.

"Damnit," he muttered.

Up in the sky, the sun was beginning to fall below the horizon, dragging a curtain of deep blue overhead. He watched the stars slowly begin to form and the moon steadily take shape. Just before the streetlights would have to be lit, he strode away from the mess and climbed back into the carriage, which had been loyally awaiting his return. The next moment they were off in the direction of the house.

At that late of an hour, he was surprised to see a group of people flooded at one of the stores along the way. He called to Joseph to stop in front, curiosity getting the better of him. He needed something else to think about at the moment. He didn't want irritation to plague his mind the entire night. Sleep never came when that happened. So he leaned his head out of the open window and examined the situation.

The mob was made up of women, with the exceptionally man here and there. The store was lit up and open past its closing time. All Erik could decipher through peering into the glass was that they were all in line to buy the same product. He saw some of them holding it up and waving it around. The same item caught his eye in the front window. It was a stack of white opaque jars just below a sign. He could barely decode the words in the heavy darkness, but it was something about a new youth cream that supposedly reduced wrinkles and created beautiful, flawless, young-looking skin.

Erik uttered a sound of disgust and withdrew into the carriage. He couldn't understand people and their obsession with the exterior. It was unsettling and plain wrong. Now even more upset and annoyed, he merely wanted to return home and shut himself up in his room again. This was part of the reason why he detested the outside world.

"Move along, Joseph!" he called. "There's nothing to see here. Just a population that's gone mad."


	6. The Truth about Aging

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** I had to give Erik and Madame Giry another little moment. There will be more in this story, too. I also had to have a witty interaction between him and Christine again. I like the contrast, yet…attraction? Hmm…

**Section 6**

- The Truth about Aging

As soon as the door slammed, Madame Giry was up out of her chair and rushing toward the entryway. Erik barely had time to remove his jacket and top hat before being pounced on by the woman. Her appearance was just as frantic as it had been that morning. It was obvious that she was still going out of her mind about Meg's absence. He was struck with guilt when he saw the desperation in her eyes. Of course she was going to inquire on what he had discovered. Of course he would have to tell her the truth that nothing had turned up.

"Well?" came the expected question.

Erik finished hanging his jacket on the fancy coat rack and placing his hat atop it. She was eager and he was stalling. That made him feel worse, but he was already aware of how crushed she would be when he revealed his failure.

"Well what?" he asked playing dumb.

He felt stupid and embarrassed. The look on the woman's face changed to irritation for a single second before resuming its anxiety. She pressed closer to him, going along with his bad acting. She probably already knew in the back of her mind what his answer was going to be because of his supposed ignorance on her inquiry, but she wasn't about to rely on that intuition. She hoped, she prayed that he would prove her wrong and have some good news to share.

"Meg! Did you find anything about Meg's whereabouts?" she half-shouted.

He paused, looking her over, secretly hoping she wasn't going to faint or throw a tantrum. "No," he muttered simply. "I searched all day, but to no avail. Nothing turned up."

Erik watched her, getting ready to catch her if she should fall or grab her if she went wild. She did none of those things. Instead, Madame Giry's face merely fell into a sad, sort of depressed sag. Her muscles visibly relaxed, and it seemed as if in an instant she had aged years. The wrinkles across her forehead and under her eyes seemed to grow bolder. Her posture was slouched, as if a giant weight were carried on her shoulders. Her manner became quiet and reserved. She turned away without another look at him.

"Oh," she whispered, retreating into the back of the house.

Erik remained where he was until her figure had disappeared from view. He allowed a couple minutes to pass where the ticking of the old clock was the only noise that could be heard. He knew he had to go to her and comfort her. He knew he had to do something to take her mind from her daughter. It wasn't going to be easy, but he had to try. He waited a little longer to give her time to come to her senses, to come to herself. The information would sink in, she would snap back at least a little, then he would be able to properly talk to her.

Feeling the time was right, he strode down the path she had taken into the dining room. He found her sitting at the table, staring straight ahead with her hands politely folded on the surface. There was no break in his rhythm as he went to a chair across from her and sat down with a humph. Her eyes flickered to him lazily more out of habit than out of interest.

"You'll never believe what I saw on the way home, Madame Giry," Erik began, stressing as much irritation as he could muster. She didn't respond so he continued. "Mind you it is past closing for a majority of the stores, but this particular one still had a line of people out its door."

"That doesn't seem so odd," she replied absently. "Perhaps it was a busy day."

"Well I'll say!" Erik enthused. "Most of these people happened to be women—women waiting all day to buy some new youth cream that has hit the market." He leaned across the table. "Now tell me this, Madame Giry. Why is it that women are so obsessed with agelessness?"

Madame Giry shifted her position. It was obvious she was becoming more involved in the conversation. It was working. Her thoughts weren't being entirely consumed on Meg's whereabouts. She seemed to truly think about the question in order to give a well-stated response.

"I don't know if it is only the female sex that is obsessed with youth, sir. I'm sure many men secretly linger in front of the mirror before heading out and tear apart their wrinkles and gray hairs." She paused. "But if I had to guess as to the reason, I would say it has to do with the want to remain attractive and appealing to others."

"But does nobody understand the beauty behind aging?" he questioned. "Those wrinkles and gray hairs that everyone so abhors reveals wisdom and experience. It is something to be celebrated and praised, not shunned."

"Not everyone thinks of aging as you do, Monsieur, which I will admit is a shame. Who knows how much money is spent on these useless products? That money could be put to much better use."

Even though she closed her mouth, it was obvious that she wasn't done. There was something tugging at her lips, that wanted to come out, but she restrained herself. Erik stared at her, noticing her fleeting eyes. He had a feeling of what subject she would touch on and wasn't too thrilled about it. Yet, in order to help her, he decided to pursue it.

"Is there something more you wish to say?" he ventured.

"Well," she began carefully, "you're perspective of life is also a unique one."

He paused. She looked at him as if to get permission to continue. "Go on," he whispered slowly.

"Of course you look upon growing old as a privilege because your experience is going to be completely different from the rest of the worlds. The hatred behind aging is due to the outcome of death. While the human race grows old and dies, you-"

"I see what you mean," Erik interrupted. He cleared his throat. "Tell me that you'd never be fooled by those advertisements."

"Never," Madame Giry announced immediately. "I do not believe in the reliability of such items, and I do not trust what they are made of."

"Good woman," he praised, smiling quaintly.

The front door opened and closed. There was no doubt that the arrival was Christine. Erik hadn't even known she was absent from the building. She must have left when he was out all day. By some innate sixth sense, Christine knew where they were located, and her footsteps were heard approaching the dining room. She entered a moment later, and smiled in greeting.

"You're back," she pointed out at Erik.

He nodded. "Where did you journey off to?"

"I was just running some errands," she said taking a seat.

He watched her place a small package on the table followed by a little white opaque container. He had to double take on that container because he was getting a strange sense of déjà vu. He eyed it suspiciously.

"Where'd you get that, Christine?" he asked.

She looked down at the jar, unaffected by its presence. "Some store owner was handing out free samples. He basically shoved it into my hands."

Erik's eyes went wide. It was that jar—the jar that everyone was standing in line for. The dreaded youth cream had made its way back to his sight. He was being stalked. He couldn't escape. He was going to be haunted by the entire concept.

"You should get rid of that. Those products never work, and you do not need it," Erik said sourly.

"I was going to, but on my way home I opened it up and you will never believe what I found."

"Try me."

She pulled a small folded piece of paper from a fold in her dress and set it in front of him. He opened it slowly until all of the words were distinguishable. It was more of a ticket, announcing congratulations for winning a special trip to some factory he had never even heard of.

"What is this?" he asked holding it up as if it were contaminated.

"You have to read all of it, silly," Christine scolded, grabbing it from him. She looked it over. "It says that I am cordially invited to attend a guided tour of the factory this product was made in by the creator himself." She looked up at Erik. "There are only a handful of these tickets released, so we shouldn't be so quick to dismiss it."

"It sounds like a bunch of rubbish to me," Erik dismissed.

"Really? Because I was going to invite you."

"What?" His tone seemed to suddenly change.

"I was going to invite you to accompany me. It says we are allowed a guest," she said looking off the paper. "I could always invite Raoul."

Erik settled back into his chair, shifting in order to ease the uncomfortable feeling. "Oh, well, I guess I should make sure you arrive and return with no trouble, and that there are no complications with this free pass that you have." He cleared his throat. "So in order to do all that, I am sure I should attend this tour with you."

Christine stood with a small, knowing smile on her face. "Alright, whatever you say, Monsieur." And she exited the room with Erik's gaze in tow.


	7. Le Jeune Marignon

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the late update. With finals coming up, it is going to be even harder for me to update these next two weeks. I apologize in advance. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I find it somewhat humorous, but somewhat odd. I didn't really plan for all of the Christine/Erik moments in it. They just seemed to come randomly out of my fingers. So hopefully they fit right in. I think I am going to like writing Jacque Marignon. He's somewhat of a cocky bastard, but those are always the fun characters. Oh, and his is just some random name that struck me in about a second. I don't mean for it to sound strange or awkward. Anyway, enjoy!

P.S. If you need a translation of the title/product label, just let me know and I'll stick it into the note in my next addition. Try to figure it out, though. It should be fairly obvious.

P.P.S. I tried posting this chapter days ago, but wouldn't let me. So do not chastise me too much.

**Section 7**

- Le Jeune Marignon

The next morning, Erik and Christine rose early for the special factory tour. Erik dressed in his usual black suit and placed a small red kerchief in the breast pocket for extra decoration. Christine adorned a black lace frock with short sleeves and a gray floral pattern. Though somewhat drab at first appearance, she spiced up the ensemble with a red choker and matching hair ribbon. She had her brown, curly locks tied back in a messy bun.

When Madame Giry saw both of them standing next to each other, retrieving their overcoats, she was immediately hit by a thought on how perfect they fit together, even when just designing their outfits. They both contained that hint of crimson, while keeping the main black focus. They seemed to channel each other on a very personal level that no one else could reach. They were too similar, yet too different. Even their mannerisms of slipping on the white gloves before the cloaks matched.

Erik propped his top hat on his head, turned to Christine, and asked, "Are you ready?"

She nodded once, lifting the front of her skirt so it would not drag and get in the way. Madame Giry opened the door for them, and Erik ushered Christine out in front of him. When the girl had gone outside, he turned to the older woman.

Aside, he muttered, "We shall not be gone long."

He stepped outside and went to the carriage. Joseph had already assisted Christine inside and then held the door open for Erik. With one foot on the first step, he glanced over his shoulder at Madame Giry poised in the doorway, watching after them. She gave a small wave that he returned with a tip of his hat. He felt guilty leaving her alone during such a difficult time, but he knew that she would be better preoccupying her time with chores and tasks around the house. She wouldn't want to be reminded of Meg. But that was most difficult when everything was reminiscent of her daughter. In time of strife, such as this, anything would trigger a memory.

Erik pulled himself into the carriage and shut the door behind him. He swung into the seat across from Christine, who had her hands neatly folded in her lap and stared directly at him. He tried to pretend that he didn't notice her gaze by taking time to adjust his cloak and hat and cane, but eventually he had to pay awareness.

"Yes?" he questioned her.

She blinked, suddenly coming out of a trance. A small smile came to her lips. She tried to look as innocent and unknowingly as possible. "Oh, pardon me. It's nothing."

And the carriage lurched into motion with a quick snap of the reins by Joseph. It wasn't long before Christine's eyes lingered on him once again. He saw her out of the corner of his eyes, while his face was turned toward the window. He could feel the cool pressure of the mask against his facial skin, so was reassured in that area. He didn't think there was any problem between them, but could he be mistaken? Could he have done something to upset her or make her uncomfortable? Nothing came to mind. They had talked their way through the whole Raoul de'Chagny fiasco. He had thought that had been cleared up. Then again, the inner workings of a woman was foreign territory to him. Perhaps he should say something. He turned his head toward her, acknowledging her stare.

Before he even had time to open his mouth, she interrupted, "Madame Giry is a fine woman."

There was a pause.

"Yes," Erik replied softly, not quite knowing what else to say.

"Has she worked for you long?"

"About ten years." Erik felt himself answering her questions with little to no resistance.

"Did Meg come at the same time?"

"No. She only arrived about three years ago."

Then there was a sudden shift in manner and tone. Christine dropped her head and began to knead her hands together. Her voice became sadder. Her initial calm, cool composure broke down. She became sloppier in her actions and speech.

"I do hope Meg returns safely soon. I can't bear to see Madame Giry afflicted so. I am worried."

Erik, too, changed in tone and attitude. He sat up straighter, adopting a more confident and composed disposition. He adjusted his suit slightly in the shift. His senses returned to him. The barriers and wariness were reconstructed inside.

"I tell Madame Giry all the time and I'll tell you: do not fret. I will discover Meg's whereabouts and bring her home. I'll ensure that whoever did this to her will surely pay for it, too."

"Are you really that confident?"

Christine looked onto him with eager, pleading eyes. The edges were stained with shimmering tears, and her brow was creased in doubt and concern. She needed reassuring. She needed to know that she would see Meg again.

"Yes." Erik nodded, no waver in his voice. "I promise."

-----

They arrived at the factory faster than they expected. There was no one outside the glass double doors, or any sign that this was where the free tour was being held except that the name on the building matched that on the ticket. Erik assisted Christine out of the carriage, and Joseph drove it out of sight around the corner. Erik offered his arm to Christine, who gladly took it. He led her inside, where a front desk was the only piece of furniture around. Besides the man behind the desk, there was a small group of people loitering off to the side. Erik would have liked to assume that that was the tour group, but just wanted to be sure.

"Pardon me," he said approaching the desk. "Is that the group receiving the special tour?"

"Yes it is, Monsieur. Do you have the ticket?" The man held out his hand expectantly.

Erik looked to Christine, who had begun to dig through her small handbag. In a matter of seconds, she had located the invitation and then placed it in the man's open palm. He looked it over, checking it to be genuine, before placing it through a little slot. The small piece of paper disappeared from view forever.

"Welcome, and enjoy the tour Madame and Monsieur." He smiled and ushered them to the crowd with a gesture of his hand.

They smiled in return and followed his lead. As soon as they were out of earshot of the front desk, Christine erupted into quiet giggles. She tried placing her free hand over her lips to stifle the reaction, but a smile was still spread tightly across her face. Erik gazed at her in slight wonderment, slowing his steps so the other people waiting in the lobby wouldn't overhear.

"What is so funny?" he whispered.

"You didn't catch it?" Her eyes gleamed with good humor and her lips fell apart into a toothy grin. "That man believed us to be married."

Erik halted right where he was, his arms dropping to his side and his jaw doing the same. Christine traveled a couple steps ahead of him before realizing that she had lost her second. She stopped and pivoted around. The look of surprise and embarrassment on his face caused another fit of giggles that could not be hidden from the rest of the room. All eyes turned to them, and Erik, never liking spectacles, quickly acted. He took Christine by the arm and turned away from the onlookers, treading lightly a small distance farther away.

"Be careful what you jest about, Mademoiselle. Not everyone will be as quick to accept it as you," he whispered hurriedly.

This time it was Christine who ceased walking first. She faced him with a very small perimeter between them. Her eyes burned into his with an intensity still in the same good humor. A small smile still occupied her features.

"But I do not jest, sir. He called me Madame when I have never before been married in my life. That only means he had assumed we were a couple." She paused, her lips falling and her intentions seemingly more serious. "Would it be that disturbing if we were a couple, Monsieur?"

Erik was taken aback. He was speechless. What could he say? He felt awkward and embarrassed. His cheeks grew hot with what was sure to be a blush. She could probably see his panic and hesitation. The discomfort he felt probably showed strongly through his eyes. He wished she would look anywhere else but at him. He wished she hadn't even asked that last question. What was she expecting? His eyes shifted frantically, trying to find an answer in the emptiness around them. There was nothing to help him out.

He swallowed strangely, looking back to Christine, who hadn't removed her gaze. He opened his mouth once, but shut it with nothing to say. He opened it twice, hoping something would just come to him, but had to shut it again. Then on the third attempt, a loud booming voice interjected before any word was uttered. It called the attention of everyone in the room, raising high above all other conversations.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome!"

Erik was so relieved that physically it appeared a weight was taken from his shoulders. Christine's attention had been averted by the voice, so she hadn't seen this reaction. Erik, too, now looked over. A youngish man was approaching the group of bystanders with friendly outstretched arms, a jubilant expression, and a fine suit.

"It seems the tour is starting," Erik said happily.

Christine looked at him with some hesitation. It was obvious she wanted an answer to her question. Yet, she was willing to accept the absence of one at the moment because he was right. They had to join the rest of the visitors. So she allowed herself to be ushered forward by Erik, irritated at the interruption and curious about the ultimate answer to the ultimate question.

"My name is Jacque Marignon, and I am the creator of Le Jeune Marignon," the man introduced as the two approached. There was a small, but hearty round of applause, and he bowed obligingly. "Now, come! Let me show you where the magic happens."


	8. Silent Rivals

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Well, finals are over and school is out for the summer. So I am back to continue work on this series. Thank you for your patience and understanding. I hope this chapter was worth the wait, or at least interesting enough. Thanks again!

**Section 8**

- Silent Rivals

Jacque Marignon was a handsome, middle-aged gentleman. He had a full head of dirty blonde hair and clear blue eyes. His frame was slender, but tightness in his shirt around the shoulders and upper arms told of hidden muscles. His teeth gleamed and his eyes sparkled. Overall, he could fall into the category of the perfect male. With the numerous females touring the compound staring very unlady-like, with their mouths agape and their tongues almost falling out, further confirmed his spot in the group for the select few.

He stepped lively with a grace and confidence not found or believed in many. His voice was rich and flowing and masculine. It was soothing. It was friendly. It was perfect for persuasion in its charming manner. Undoubtedly, everyone would walk away at the end of the tour with less money in their pockets and more youth cream in their possession.

"Over here is the packaging room. You can watch through the windows the cream's process into containers then boxes then to the shipyard," Jacque informed.

He stood next to large windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. It was a specified viewing room that overlooked a larger space of machines, boxes, and seemingly complicated tasks. A railing out in front of the glass prevented the enthused spectators from damaging any property or potentially injuring themselves. The group poured forward to get a good look at what lay beneath.

"You can see each jar on the conveyer belt become filled with the special cream before being whisked off to be sealed and then placed away in a cardboard box. From there, the boxes are moved into our shipping yard where they are sent off to be sold to you fine people."

There was a gentle chuckle throughout the crowd. Everyone seemed transfixed by this simple process. The truth was, though, that some of the technology being used was not seen by the average person. Even though most of the crowd was of the upper-middle class or higher, they did not spend their time in factories or plants to recognize these machines.

"Now if you'd just like to move along. Our next destination is the laboratories." Jacque Marignon ushered the tour out a side door. He gradually made his way to the front in order to lead them in the right direction. Occasionally, he turned to address the crowd and maintain their interest. "I am sure this will be everyone's favorite part. You'll get to see the 'lab geeks' at their finest." That triggered another chuckle wave.

The laboratories were rooms with either half or more of the walls made of glass. There were only a few of these rooms with three people in each at the most. This did turn out to be the favorite of the tour. Small clusters gathered around the different rooms, peering intently in at the work being done.

"The scientists are already working on concocting another form of Le Jeune Marignon, just to be ready for the future when the public is weary of the original." He smiled his beaming, toothy grin. "Although, I don't think you could find any better than this."

The tour lasted a total of about three hours. The time flew by with Jacque Marignon's witty jokes and the spectacles that were viewed. However, they gradually migrated back toward the front hall. The man at the desk was still in the same spot he had been left in. He didn't even look up from the papers strewn in front of him. The crowd knew that it was nearing the end of the amusing visit, which set them into thicker conversation.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for just one more minute." The noise died away and attention was turned to Jacque at the front. "I'd just like to thank you all for coming on this free tour. It has really been a pleasure showing all of you wonderful people around. I hope you enjoyed yourselves as much as I enjoyed entertaining you."

He held his hands out like some sort of circus ringleader. A smile was set in stone on his face. A small chuckle rippled across the crowd. However, there was a single couple that were unaffected by the addictive pleasantness Jacque Marignon emanated like some sort of body odor. A hand pierced a small bit of air, barely seen amongst the sea of heads except for the shockingly white gloves.

"Excuse me, Monsieur Marignon," a voice arose above the chatter.

The laughter died; the smile reduced on the man's face. Yet he didn't turn down the address. He rose to face the call out with the same amount of enthusiasm and acceptance.

"Yes, sir. Is there something I can help you with?"

The crowd seemed to part to reveal a man in all black with a startling white mask over half of his face. The black top hat on his head was tipped over a majority of the porcelain. The remarkably beautiful girl standing in his wake was overshadowed by the face ornament. He allowed his hand to waver downward to his side.

"I was just curious as to what was located on the other side there."

He pointed off to the opposite side of the room where the tour had not been shown. The crowd shifted their focus in that direction, and even Jacque half-turned. He put a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat re-facing his audience. He folded his hands behind his back with his shoulders pushed back.

"Down that way, sir, is my personal office, the testing area, and the room containing the secret ingredient, all of which is, unfortunately, off limits."

His smile broadened again as murmurs of disappointment touched several people. This brought on another bought of laughter then the mysterious man was lost to the world. The crowd closed up, back into their good-humored nature. Never more was the man's comment touched upon. Never more was another thought given to what had been said. Nothing seemed out of the normal. Nothing would ruin the public's blissful ignorance.

"Well, like I was initially saying," Jacque Marignon continued, "this is the end of the tour. So please, enjoy the rest of your day and feel free to pick up any more of Le Jeune Marignon. Don't be shy. I'll be available for some time to answer any questions you all may have." He bowed low, elegantly. "Thank you and farewell."

An applause arose, and delightful impressions were left on the hearts of all.

-----

"I thought I should come over and introduce myself to the only man brave enough to ask a question," Jacque Marignon explained as he drew near to Erik.

The man in the mask looked over from his whispered words with his female companion. He looked the gentleman over quickly before offering his hand in greeting. The two shook, a firm, masculine handshake showing off the strength of each man like in competition. Though neither knew what possible challenge they were involved in, there seemed to be some unspoken rivalry sparking between the two.

"Monsieur Marignon, it's a pleasure," Erik greeted. "My name is Danvers."

"Well, Monsieur Danvers, the pleasure is all mine," Jacque returned.

The handshake broke and they each took a single step back, but neither seemed to back down. Their spines were straight; their chests were puffed out. They looked like a couple of roosters getting ready to start a cockfight. Yet they remained gentlemen with a pleasant outward attitude. Then Jacque Marignon noticed Christine, who had been half-hidden by Erik. Jacque's face lit up in a different manner—softer and sweeter.

"And who might this alarmingly lovely creature be?" he asked, taking up her hand and kissing it.

A smile spread across Christine's face, most involuntarily because she was not used to such gestures. Erik never greeted her in such a way or said such nice things to her. She couldn't say that she didn't enjoy it or that it didn't flatter her. It was strange, but it was enjoyable on some level. The tint of red in her cheeks told the world of that.

"I am Christine Daaé, sir." She curtsied to show her own gracious greeting.

Monsieur Marignon smiled politely backing up to hold both persons in his vision. He folded his hands elegantly in front of him. He spoke in a way that was reminiscent of a survey of the tour they had just been led on and the experience they had just had. Though he spoke mostly business, a lighter undertone was present.

"So what did both of you think of the tour? Was I up to par?" He didn't sound cocky or conceited when he uttered this. Instead, it was purely for the criticism.

"Oh, you were most enjoyable, Monsieur Marignon," Christine urged. "Really, I do not think any tour could live up to this one."

"Thank you, Mademoiselle. Your words are just as sweet as your face."

Erik cleared his throat. He was uncomfortable listening to Jacque Marignon flatter Christine repeatedly. He could only compare it to a monk repetitively taking a flogging. At the bitter sound, both heads turned his way. There was a pause in the conversation. Erik's eyes fluttered from one face to the other, until stopping back on Jacque Marignon's piercing gaze.

"Pardon me, Monsieur, but I was curious as to a further explanation on the process of creating your youth cream," Erik said somewhat softly.

"Ah, I see you wish to touch upon the subject of the secret ingredient again, am I right?" Erik didn't answer, so he continued. "Like I said earlier, I am not at liberty to reveal any information that could possibly give away the success of my product. You look like a business man yourself. Surely you know the competitiveness within the field." His voice became quieter. "There are spies everywhere, Monsieur Danvers. If I expose my secret ingredient to just anyone, by tomorrow ten other companies will be producing the same cream. I'd be out of business if that occurred."

He chuckled, his gaze shifting to Christine. She couldn't help offering a smile of the same air. Erik was unimpressed.

"What about the test subjects?" he said instantly.

"What about them?" Jacque shot back.

"Are they consenting? Is all of their approval of the product required in order for you to put it on the market?"

Jacque Marignon shifted his position. It was obvious that he was becoming uncomfortable and rather frustrated at the interrogation.

"Sir, I am sure that you will find not one complaint amongst the participants. They are willing and actually excited about being a part of such an experience. We pay them well for their services. You would also find that not one leaves disappointed."

He was confident and strong in his rebuttal. He was giving off a positive smirk, a positive stare when a man in a business suit ran out from the forbidden hallway and over to Jacque Marignon. He whispered quickly into the boss's ear. The look on his face was urgent and perplexed. Likewise, a small pressing veil fell across Jacque's face for a fleeting moment. Then he turned back to the couple with his original charming expression, though a crucial hint lay beneath it.

"If you'll excuse me, I must attend to an important affair." He bowed low. "Monsieur Danvers. Mademoiselle Daaé."

Then he left. Erik watched him depart down the mysterious half of the factory. Most of the other members of the tour had already exited the structure. Erik followed suit and turned and went outside, too. Christine was at his heels, but not prepared to go in silence.

"Danvers, is that your actual name? Erik Danvers?" she questioned breathlessly.

There was no misstep in his pace, no hesitation in his voice. His eyes did not waver from the scenery straight ahead.

"No," he replied swiftly. "I made it up."


	9. Another Lost

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the late update. I'm trying to adjust to this four hour summer class and blah blah blah. Anyway, even though not much is occurring in this chapter, I hope you find the emotional events fairly entertaining and such. I promise to try to have the next chapter up this weekend to make amends for these last two chapters being delayed. Anyway, enjoy!

**Section 9**

- Another Lost

Joseph Buquet met up with Erik and Christine around the corner. They got into the carriage and headed towards home. The horses trotted at a casual gate and were given long reins to test their boundary of freedom. Though it was already after noon and their destination was almost across town, they were not in any hurry. Only a few minutes onto the road they became caught up in the usual midday bustle and traffic. The horses were slowed to a strong, steady walk to no complaints from the passengers.

No, the people held within were busy musing to themselves about the occurrence of the day. Their thoughts held their own opinions, silent and steadfast. It could have been fear of what the other might say in response to those opinions as to why none were voiced aloud. It could have been hardheadedness and possible disappointment. Whatever the case as to these thoughts remaining hidden, silence ensued until the braver of the two would come forth with a word.

"Well that tour was more splendid than I had originally imagined it to be," Christine admitted, the first to speak, keeping her face turned toward the passing scenery outside the window.

Erik acted as if he had barely heard her. He, too, had been preoccupied with the images outside of the other window. He shot a fleeting glance her way, as if to confirm it was actually her who had spoken. He had his chin propped up on a few bent fingers, resting his weary muscles.

"I suppose it wasn't a complete bore," he muttered.

"A complete bore?" Christine questioned now looking fully onto him. "Monsieur Marignon was a joy!"

This time it was Erik who tore away from the window to turn on his addresser. It never occurred to him in his fit of excitement that Christine could have been baiting him into a conversation. "Joy, hah!"

"If it wasn't for his pleasant attitude and comic genius, the entire event would have been tedious and dull," Christine explained.

In sudden defense, Erik blurted, "You only compliment his character because you find him physically appealing. All of you women are alike." He paused and turned back to the soundless window, as if running away from the entire situation. Inaudibly, he added, "All humans are alike."

However, Christine would not allow him to retreat so easily. "All women are alike?" she scoffed. He looked back at her. "You think I am just another brainless, obedient girl that would fall over any handsome man? Obviously you've learned nothing of my character over the time I've lived in your house."

"You cannot deny that you noticed his exterior glow before his apparent charming personality," Erik defended.

Christine sat back calmly, trying not to provoke him, but instead reach a common ground. "Alright, I'll admit that much. I did notice his appearance before anything else. How couldn't I though? I had never met Monsieur Marignon before, or heard of him. He came out of nowhere to lead the tour. Of course I'm going to lay eyes upon him before I am able to be exposed to his personality."

Erik merely shook his head. His turned his head away, propped his chin back onto the finger pedestal. His eyes watched whatever passed outside the window, but his brain hardly comprehended any of the sights. He couldn't formulate anything in response to what she had said. He felt as if he couldn't even think straight. She had caught him off guard by the spark of conversation. He knew she was contemplating the tour, just as he had been, yet he had been unprepared to respond to anything she said about it. He knew, though, she hadn't been as perceptive of Jacque Marignon as he had been. Otherwise, she would have noticed he had been hiding something.

"I'm not attracted to Monsieur Marignon," Christine whispered, leaning forward so he would not miss a single word. "Next time you feel jealous, Monsieur Erik, just say it instead of accusing me of bogus allegations."

Erik's eyes went wide. His breath caught in his chest. He heard the seat cushion sing as Christine's weight shifted away from him. She had called him jealous. Jealous? Surely this pang in his chest was not jealousy. It was unfamiliar, but it was certainly not jealousy. Was it? He realized then that he hadn't been breathing and released the air within his sore lungs. That explained the ache in his chest. It was the stagnant oxygen and carbon dioxide. It wasn't envy. It had only been his breath caught in his lungs. That and nothing more…

The carriage lurched to a sudden stop, most likely for pedestrians or carts crossing the street. Erik was grateful because it shook him away from anymore thoughts on that member of the seven deadly sins. He blinked a couple times and raised his head from his folded fingers. The scenery before his eyes refocused, and he identified a light post in the line of his gaze. It took him a minute longer to realize what was likewise facing him on that light post. It was black and white and, if he wasn't going completely mad, had a sketched face.

Christine, who had also been shaken into the present by the halt, peered over at Erik's inquisitive actions. Curiosity quickly got the better of her and she scooted in closer to inquire as to what had caught his attention so wholly.

"What is it?" she asked.

Without glancing over his shoulder and as if the previous tension had never even been there, he answered, "It appears to be a poster." He sighed in disappointment. "A missing child poster."

"What?"

Christine moved into half of the window. She looked at the sheet of paper attached to the pole. Sure enough, at the top was the giant word 'Missing' followed by a sketch of the child and a brief description. It was shabby, obviously created by the youth's own poor parents in dire desperation for their offspring back. It caused Christine's heart to break. Her frame physically frowned, as if a weight had just been dropped upon her.

"He looks so young," she murmured. "What monster would do such a thing?"

"Another one is lost…This is one among hundreds in recent reports," added Erik. "All of these cases of missing children have to be related. It is too coincidental." He finally side-glanced at his female companion. "Welcome to the human race."

-----

"I dare say, what happened here?" Erik almost shouted after walking into the house to find all the contents of the front closet strewn about the floor.

It appeared as if a small, confined tornado had been let loose inside of the closet and threw up what now blocked a majority of the hallway. It was impossible to merely walk by. One had to step carefully between each coat and hat and cane to reach the other end. Erik, who necessitated cleanliness, was appalled. At first, he didn't know what to do or think. But his mind came back to him in a short moment.

"Madame Giry, what is the meaning of this?" he boomed throughout the building, while crossing the sea of outerwear.

A small sniffle that was almost missed to the ear came from the dining room, and that was exactly where he headed. He found Madame Giry seated at the table with her head bent, coveting a small shoe. A white handkerchief was balled up on the surface in front of her. As soon as he realized what state she was in, he stopped. Immediately his anger and frustration dissipated. He quietly took up the seat next to her, pulled out his own handkerchief, and offered it out to her.

"I think you are in need of a clean one," he whispered.

Madame Giry was distracted by the white fabric, in which time Erik was able to see the tear streaks down her cheeks and her puffy eyes and red nostrils. She fingered the handkerchief delicately into her possession.

"Thank you." Her voice was even quieter and slightly hoarse.

"What happened?" he continued, keeping her talking.

"I apologize for the mess," she replied immediately. "I was cleaning and organizing the front closet to keep my mind off of…off of…"

"Go on."

"Then I found her little shoe…" She showed the footwear as if it were made of glass. "It caught me off guard. I just couldn't seem to finish my task or do anything, but sit here and…well…" She wiped her face with the rag.

"I see," Erik said nodding. "I believe a cup of tea will do you good. I shall make you up one then I would prefer it if you went to bed."

Erik got up and went into the kitchen. He glanced around, feeling like he was in a foreign country though it was his own house. What had he done? He had promised Madame Giry a cup of tea and couldn't even do that much for her. Was he so incompetent that he didn't even know how to make a cup of tea? Luckily, at that moment, though, Christine entered into the kitchen. She noticed his lack of knowledge in his own kitchen, smiled to herself, and busied with making the tea. Though they were silent in preparation, it was not awkward. It was comforting, if anything, at such a painful time. With the tea ready, Christine had it arranged on a small tray and was about to bring it out.

"Wait," Erik stopped her. He grabbed a small glass bottle and poured in its caramel colored liquid until the contents of the teapot almost reached over the limit. Then he capped the bottle and replaced it. "This will help her."

In a matter of a couple hours after downing the entire pot of tea, laced with Erik's secret ingredient, Madame Giry was passed out at the dining room table. The shoe was still grasped in her limp hand atop the surface. Erik and Christine stood looking at her motionless frame. Not a word had passed between them since they had left the kitchen. Christine had remained by Madame Giry's side, while Erik had cleaned up the mess left in the hall. He hadn't done so much work in years and years. Perhaps it had been good for him.

"My heart aches for her," Christine said. "I feel so sad and I can't even do anything to assist. That's the worst part."

"Yes you can. You can stay by her side and remind her that she is not alone in this matter. We, too, care for Meg's well-being. We, too, are ill with dread and remorse. Being a companion can do more for her than you may think," Erik responded. There was a pause. "Let's get her to her bed."

He picked her up like he would a little child, gently and cautiously. He carried her up the flight of stairs to her bedroom, which happened to be next to Meg's. Christine hurried ahead to draw a spot on the bed where she would fit. Then, once she was lain on the cushion, Christine drew the blankets back up to cover Madame Giry. She remained a moment longer to look down upon the older woman's face before following Erik out.

Though the morning would bring back awash of memories of Meg to Madame Giry, underneath the watchful eye of the moon, she was in an ignorant bliss. No dreams passed through the housekeeper's mind. No torment was felt in her bosom. She was at peace as she slept comfortably, deeply. Though the morning would bring back all the pain of the past days, Madame Giry remained in a calm unconscious state if only temporarily.


	10. A Step in the Right Direction

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Ok, so I lied. But Monday is close enough to the weekend, right? Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. It's kind of uneventful and boring, but it moves the story along…for the most part. I also hope it isn't too confusing in parts. Anyway, I'll leave you to it then.

**Section 10**

- A Step in the Right Direction

Early the next morning, just after sunrise, Erik dragged himself out of bed, dressed into one of his usual black suits, and called upon Joseph to take him out. It was obvious by the other man's disheveled appearance and delayed movements that he had been deeply asleep before being so abruptly disturbed by his master's summons. Erik allowed the man his comforting quietude, knowing that he was most likely in no mood to participate in a full blown conversation. There was only one command that he dared to give to his exhausted driver: "To the Opera Garnier."

Without crowds and a majority of the general population out on the streets, the trip was steady and quick. To either side of the carriage, shops were being prepped to open, some already were. A number of the women that consistently sold flowers along the streets were already taking up their places. The sun rose in the sky once again. The day was beginning anew. It meant fresh starts, new chances. It was a bittersweet feeling because it also meant a day for answers, as well as, yet another day wasted.

The Opera House looked desolate and dreary with the strange morning shadows cast across its edifice. There was no life in the structure at that hour. It was cold, unfeeling and it only offered memories to the normal activities that took place within it. Those memories would give way to actuality when the ballet girls and staff members penetrated the building for their daily routine only a little while later.

Joseph dropped Erik off at the front steps that fanned out in front of the Opéra Populaire like some regal carpet of clean white stone. He was told to wait out in the designated area until it was time to go. Meanwhile, he would be able to catch up on his disturbed sleep. Erik, instead, had business to attend to. He mounted the staircase in a casual, yet determined gait. He had decided long ago before even arriving upon the spot that he would inspect the place from top to bottom, inside and out for however long it would take to discover something, anything pertaining to the missing Meg. He was so focused on this goal because he knew for certain, whether it be an ache in his gut or a little voice in the back of his mind, that there was something there he just hadn't found yet.

Inside was dark and quiet. It was eerily reminiscent of a tomb—isolated from the world in a realm of maddening silence and pessimistic darkness. Erik did not shrink away. He ran his hand empathetically over the rough texture of one of the decorative pillars, feeling a sense of relatedness to the grand palace. It seemed to house secrets within the plaster barriers, just as he had his own safely tucked away behind the walls of his defenses. Now he tried to reach the building on another level. He tried to withdraw sympathy from it by connecting himself to the inanimate object that would create a bond between them.

"Help me," he whispered to the heart of the Opera House. "Help me turn up something. Help me retrieve Meg."

He decided he didn't need the aid of light at the present. Stepping away from the enormous column, he pushed his eyesight farther than just to an adjusted state in the darkness. If he concentrated for just a moment he could strain his senses to heighten and prevail within the black cover. It was a trick only he was capable of undergoing. Not only did it come in handy when immersed in that line of work, but it was another addition to the pile of things that set him apart from the rest of humanity.

Then he began the arduous task of examination. He needed to swiftly pass over the parts of the Garnier that would become inhabited in only a couple hours at the latest. He couldn't be interrupted and he couldn't have anything altered anymore than it already was. He even concluded to keep his presence hidden from the daily inhabitants. That way he could spy upon the actions to get a better idea of the night of the crime.

Erik swept over the main lobby with no success, and similarly finished the entire first floor. By the time he headed up the large staircase to peruse the balconies and hallways of the second floor, the large double entrance doors opened to emit the crowd of gossiping girls and janitorial hands. He easily sank back into the shadows, disappearing from view. He faded into the elements of the next level to get back to work. Though voices and noises drifted to him, he remained as disconnected from them as possible. He couldn't allow these distractions to faze him.

After clearing the hallway, he moved carefully to the boxes. Getting through these took longer than he would have liked because he had to make sure to not draw any attention from the rehearsing dancers below on the stage. As he made his way from box to box, drawing closer and closer to the stage, each investigation took more and more time. He didn't stop or skip a single one, though. There was something attached to that building, and he was going to find it.

Reaching box five, Erik hesitated. He knew he should go in despite it being his own personal balcony, and he did. He wasn't surprised to find absolutely nothing. In fact, he would have been astonished if he had found something. However, after the search, he couldn't help stopping for just a moment to reminisce of the night of Meg's fabulous debut. He ran his fingers over the red velvet of one of the chairs then looked to the lit stage below with the numerous girls executing the same moves in unison.

"The show must go on," he muttered to himself.

Though one of the best dancers in the troupe had gone missing, the rest went on as if there was no crisis at hand. They chattered away like a friend could not be in possible danger or even…

He couldn't even bring himself to think the word. Perhaps he was misjudging the girls, though. Maybe they really did fret in their spare time. All he could be sure of was that in accordance to the production Meg was not missed by her peers. Her absence was actually convenient. In the world of dancing, it was every person for herself. Competition was everything, and having someone so talented out of the way opened the door for another to take her place.

Erik didn't immediately suspect one of the other ballet dancers of being the criminal. It would have been too obvious, too easy. Besides, with their stick-like frames and virtually no arm muscle, it seemed almost impossible for one of the young ladies to be able to overpower another and dispose of the incapacitated body without leaving a large area of struggle or injuring herself in some way or not being found out in the process. No, he was positive they were all innocent.

As he looked away, not being able to stand the sight anymore, his eye was caught by an indistinguishable white dot amidst the darkness of the audience. He leaned in closer to the rail to try and get a better look, but it was too small and too far away. In its proximity to the stage, too, he would have to wait until lunch break before he could go down and properly label the substance, whatever it was. He took a seat behind one of the red curtains so that he remained hidden, while never taking his gaze from the mystery below. He tried to come up with some answer during the wait, but couldn't think of any. With his mind so consumed, time flew by and lunchtime approached quickly.

The dancers ate out in one of the main foyers, leaving the entire auditorium at Erik's disposal. Face to face with the mysterious white he had discovered from above, he got down onto his knees to properly inspect it. He swiftly recognized the substance as a white powder most likely left behind from the bottom of someone's shoe. He pinched a little bit of the dust between his fingers. It was soft, yet slightly chunky and waxy. He sniffed it to the best of his ability. It smelled nice and familiar. If he wasn't mistaken, he swore he could label the material as…

"Soap?" he questioned.

What was soap doing on the bottom of someone's shoe? How had it gotten there? What did it mean? Erik stood up, dusting the substance from his fingers. He glanced around the sea of empty chairs. His first assumption was that it had come from one of the workers during cleaning. However, the more he thought about the possibility, the more he out ruled it. From just where he was standing, he noticed a few hairs here and there on various seats. He noticed the scuff marks on the surface of the stage. Soon there was no doubt that the auditorium had not yet been cleaned since the last performance. Sure any larger pieces of trash had probably been picked up and tossed away, but no detailed work had been put into it. Why? Because the ballet girls needed to practice, and why would the hall be thoroughly cleaned once only to be messed up and have to be cleaned again? It was more efficient and less costly to do meticulous maintenance right before the next performance. It was a fact then. This substance had definitely remained from Meg's debut.

-----

Keeping that powder in mind, Erik continued his scrutiny of the rest of the Opera House. He went to the top floor-to the roof even-without any other discovery. The rest of the inside was empty. So he decided to move to the outside. The sun had already disappeared behind the buildings and further sank into the horizon. A glow was cast behind the city, giving it a surreal aesthetic. Erik barely took notice as he started in the front of the structure and would work his way all the way around it until he ended back in the same spot.

The grounds were definitely easier to go through than the interior of the Populaire. There was less to cover. While the inside had taken him nearly an entire day-and even then he felt as if he hadn't gotten through it all-the outside, he estimated, should only take him a few hours into the night. Though the others were stuck inside, he was still conscious of his visibility. Even if there were less choices as to where to hide or blend into, he made it work. He was always able to make it work.

Eventually, he snaked around to the same alley he had investigated the other day. The sun was already gone, and he had to once again heighten his senses to a point of normality when there was no veil of night. The moon, being in a gibbous stage, offered aid, too. Erik saw that the garbage he had knocked over in his last visit had been picked up and was no longer there. He didn't worry too much about that. Instead of focusing on what could be in the trash, he tried perusing along the edge of the building and in any little crevices or corners.

Amidst the solitude, a squeak echoed louder than expected within the back alley, grabbing Erik's attention. He scowled when he saw the rat that had uttered the noise. He watched it scurry by, along the edge of the edifice, then out of view. Erik's expression gradually changed from a frown to one of intrigue and curiosity. The rat, being perfectly normal and an unpleasant creature, was not what caused such interest in the man. It was what the nasty little thing had run right by that captured his attention.

Erik bent over and fingered up the small object the rat had unintentionally revealed to him. It glinted in the moonlight, bright enough to be another star in the sky. Perhaps it had fallen from above and wished to be placed back among the heavens. But Erik knew otherwise. This little star belonged to the kidnapper, he was sure of it. This little ring fashioned in shimmering diamonds was exactly the clue he had been looking for.


	11. Shattered Glass

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Though somewhat short, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for the continuous reviews. They mean a lot. With any luck my writing is still meeting your expectations. I intend to have the next chapter up before this weekend. Anyway, enjoy!

**Section 11**

- Shattered Glass

Erik didn't give instructions to go back to the house. Instead, he asked Joseph to drive around town for about an hour or more. The manservant obliged, having caught up on his rest whilst his master had poked about the Opera House. He wasn't tired and was feeling up to a little fresh night air himself. The streets being desolate enough allowed for the carriage to move along at a casual pace. The horses walked the entire time with long reins and loose girths.

Inside the carriage itself, Erik sat next to one of the windows. He had both opened to receive a good breeze from the cool wind. He listened to the sounds the night offered that drifted into the black box, but he stared down at the shimmering ring held up between his fingers. He flicked it slowly back and forth, mesmerized by the reflected light that danced off its surface in an unpredictable show.

The wheels in his head turned at different rates. His concentration on the small object was strong. He just wanted to figure out how this piece fit into the enormous jigsaw puzzle. He wished that the ring had the ability to speak, so it would reveal its entire past to him. And though he had been exposed to some pretty abnormal things in his line of work, the possibility of inanimate objects coming to life was completely impossible. Even if he couldn't get the full story from the single piece of evidence, he was still grateful for the conclusions he could draw from it.

The ring was covered in diamonds, which meant that it had been expensive, which meant that whoever dropped it in the alley was fairly wealthy. Since it was unlikely to find the wealthier residents of the town skulking through alleyways and down the dirtier areas, it could only be possible that whoever dropped the ring was the kidnapper. He would have waited in the shadows for the door to open and his prey to exit. Meg had been that unfortunate victim to go through the door first.

Erik sighed aloud. He leaned his head back against the cushion, giving his eyes a rest for a minute. He gripped the ring in his fist tightly and let it rest in his lap. Though he had moved farther down the path to the solution, there was still a long way to go. He closed his eyes, feeling the air circulate against his single bare cheek, listening to the steady sound of his own breathing. He needed to relax. He needed some tea. He wanted to get this solved as fast as possible, but he just didn't think he could discover anything new about the case that night.

The carriage would have rocked him into a gentle slumber if he had allowed it to, but he sat up a little, unwilling to doze just quite yet. He turned his eyes to the open window, taking in the darkened buildings and other objects of civilization. There was definitely a different feel to the world at night. It seemed as if it were trapped in a black void where time did not exist. It was peaceful, comforting.

The sudden appearance of a figure brought him out of his zone. Since the movement of the carriage was slow, he was able to get a full visual of the scene. The person was motionless, standing in front of a shop window. Erik recognized it as the shop that had consisted of a long line merely two days prior. The figure was adorned in rags and a large cloak that concealed any distinguishable features that could be seen from the back. It was an odd sight, and it became even more peculiar when, just as they were passing by, the pedestrian lifted up an arm and chucked a large stone right through that front window.

Erik jumped out of the mobile carriage the moment after, shock clearly etched onto his face, and yelled, "You there! What was the meaning of that?"

The figure looked over at him then took off at a run. Erik felt he had no choice other than to follow. He picked up a sprint, chasing the strange character through side streets and down darkened passages. The area around him began to grow slightly unfamiliar, but he kept his focus on the person in front of him. Then pushing himself a bit harder, being rather exhausted of the senseless game of cat and mouse, he closed the distance.

"Stop! Stop!" Erik grasped the figure by the shoulders, sliding to a halt. The person shook and twisted out of his grasp. "Please, don't run from me! I mean you no harm."

The silhouette turned slowly around to face Erik, though shadow fell into the crevice created by the upturned hood, hiding the face. It was obvious by the way his or her shoulders moved up and down that he or she was breathing hard.

"What is it that you want?" a female voice asked emanating from within the hood. The sloppy accent and the tattered dress now visible revealed her poverty.

"What was the purpose of breaking the window of the shop back there? Are you a thief or were you merely thinking of sending a message to redecorate?" Erik breathed.

"I am no thief, and your humor will do nothing to settle me. I have my reason for what I did. It is none of your business. You are a stranger, so why should I tell you any intention of mine?" she spat.

"You're right. There is no reason for you to trust me. Perhaps I should introduce myself first." He held out his hand in greeting. "I am called Erik."

The woman hesitated, glancing him over from head to toe. He smiled slightly, but it didn't seem to help ease her nerves. He saw the shadow that represented her head remain focused on his own face. He realized then that his mask was troubling her, apart from his mere presence.

"Please don't be alarmed by what you see upon my face. It is for the best, I assure you."

"Your mask does not alarm me, Monsieur Erik," she replied, her voice a bit more relaxed. "Believe me when I say that it would be a comfort to own such a piece myself." She reached her hand out and encompassed his own. "It's nice to meet you, I suppose."

Erik looked down at the handshake, raising an eyebrow at the presence of her hand. It did not appear as he would have initially thought. The top of it was covered in strange scorch marks and deformities. It looked shriveled and mismatched to the middle-aged feel of the voice it belonged to. The woman apparently noticed his stares and swiftly withdrew her hand into the cloak.

"The pleasure's all mine," he whispered. He cleared his throat, staring into the black veil covering her face. "A new product was released a couple days ago in which a long line of mainly women waited for. The store you ravaged was the first to receive this product. Were you looking for a free sample?"

The woman scoffed. "Do not insult me. You are speaking of Le Jeune Marignon, created by Monsieur Jacque Marignon. That man is an abomination. I hate him. I hate his very existence."

His eyes lit up. "Ah, something else we have in common."

"You dislike the man, too? What is your relation to him?"

"A ward of mine won a free tour and I attended it with her. I find him to be a pompous ass, and yes, I do dislike him."

The woman looked around as if making sure there were no prying eyes or ears. She stepped in closer to Erik, looked around again, then moved in closer still. It was evident that she didn't want to be heard, that what she would say was of great importance that must not escape the two of them.

"You must meet me in the park," she whispered, "tomorrow after dark. If you wish to learn more about the detestable man, you will come alone. I cannot stay longer."

"Can I at least learn your name?" Erik asked.

"No. I will save it for next time. For now, I must bid you adieu."

She bowed slightly then jogged off in the opposite direction. Erik was left in an air of confusion. Their conversation had so abruptly ended, but apparently something frightened her. He pivoted and began the trek back to his carriage, if he could find his way. Yes, the encounter had been very troubling. He didn't know what to think about it really. But he had been right after first meeting Monsieur Marignon. There was something he was hiding. There was something off about his character. He would just have to wait for the next evening to find it all out. That he could do. He would be looking forward to it.


	12. Perception

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Sorry, sorry, sorry about the late update! My power went out and I lost internet connection for a few days, so I apologize. Oi, I'm so bad at this. Sorry! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little section. It's kind of interesting with a lot of tension and such. I'll leave you to it then.

**Section 12**

- Perception

Erik stopped upon setting one foot inside of the house. Something wasn't right. There was an off feeling at that late hour. He removed his jacket and top hat and paused. He listened, but only heard the ticking of the grandfather clock. He turned toward the coat rack to complete the task he had started, yet halted again in mid-motion of hanging up his outerwear. This time he noticed something that did not belong. There was a jacket-a male jacket-that did not belong on the rack. It was not his. He placed the items in his hands upon the wooden holder, took a few more steps inward, and stopped and listened again. This time, he tried to shut out the tolling of the old clock. It worked. He could just make out whispers emitting from the sitting room. Without anymore hesitation, he headed in that direction.

As he drew nearer and nearer, the voices began to pick up and become more distinct. The current one that filled the air belonged to Madame Giry. He couldn't really tell what she was saying, but was interested nonetheless. The doors were only opened a crack, and a flickering light danced across the floorboards into the hall. Upon reaching the entrance, he swung open the double doors, stopping them before they could continue their motion into the wall. Though his elaborate appearance hadn't made much, if any, sound, Madame Giry's head shot up and her gaze fell right onto him. She was seated on a couch that faced the doors. There were two heads across from her, their backs toward the doors. One was easily recognizable because of its dark curls. Before she even followed in Madame Giry's shoes and looked over her shoulder at the intruder, he knew it was Christine.

However, the head next to hers was a little less than willing to so desperately see who had barged in. The short, dirty blonde hair obviously belonged to a male. Although, in the pit of his stomach, he believed he knew who the gentleman was, he didn't want to even comprehend that the man could be sitting in his house next to Christine, sipping tea from his fine china. Both of the women's eyes focused on him, but he could only stare at the strange head, until it finally turned to reveal its identity. Sure enough, to his dismay and displeasure, the other body in the room belonged to none other than Raoul de'Chagny.

"Well, this is a surprise," Erik muttered after a moment of silence, trying to hold back his disdain. "Have I interrupted some sort of secret meeting?"

"Don't be foolish," Christine responded immediately, though her voice was quiet and fleeting.

She turned her head back to the forward, copied by Raoul. It seemed to Erik as if he had walked in upon some deep dark secret or just unveiled a hidden conspiracy involving all three of the persons seated. He didn't know whether to sit down and join them or leave the room and pretend the strange encounter had never happened. Before he could make up his mind, though, Madame Giry did so for him.

She stood up, motioning toward the small couch she had just been occupying. "Please, sir, sit down."

His eyes flickered from Madame Giry to Christine and Raoul, who both had their heads bowed as if mesmerized by something in their laps. Without shifting his gaze, he traveled across the room and took up the cushion that was now free. To his right, a fire burned lively inside the fireplace. It was what allowed the entire room to be lit. The two couches faced each other with a small table between them. Tea had been served on its surface.

"Christine," Madame Giry said, interrupting the strained silence that had befallen the inhabitants of the room, "perhaps you should confide in Monsieur Erik now."

Christine slowly lifted her head, her emerald eyes shining intensely with little help from the flame to her left. She stared at Erik momentarily before looking up to the housekeeper.

"I hesitate out of fear that he will be angry with me," she whispered.

Her voice was innocent and troubled. It was obvious that she cared more about his temper toward her than the actual news she had to share. And it wasn't that she feared he might lash out at her or in anyway threaten her existence because she knew that to be out of his nature in any situation. She only sought to not burden him and to merely act as a comfort after the long days of his business.

"Child, don't be daft. Of course-"

"Madame Giry," Erik interrupted the older woman. "Would you please bring me a cup of my specific tea?"

Her eyes widened. "Yes, sir." She exited swiftly.

With nowhere else to look, Christine stared straight into Erik's eyes. He, in turn, stared straight back. An awkward silence was allowed to fall between the three occupants. The fire crackled beside them, foreshadowing a brutal tale.

"I promise to hear you out to the end," Erik finally stated. "Now, Christine, please…"

She nodded, the fear gone from her eyes. She allowed her gaze to waver to Raoul for just a second before resuming its position on Erik.

"When I awoke this morning, you had already left to pursue Meg's case further. As always, I assisted Madame Giry around the house for the entire day. I had noticed through the windows and during whatever small amount of time I spent outside that the weather had been agreeable and the day actually quite beautiful. Being cooped up, I yearned for a stroll." She paused. "By the time I finished with the chores, the sky was already darkening. I informed Madame Giry of my plan to walk just around the block. She insisted that I not go alone out of concern of my wellbeing. She said she already lost a daughter and couldn't bear to lose me, too." Her voice grew stronger and stronger as the story progressed. "So I agreed. You, sir, were still absent-"

"So she called upon me," Raoul interjected.

Christine's eyes fluttered downward and her breath caught in her throat. She had to swallow before she could find the air to fuel her voice box to continue on. She looked up, glancing at Raoul then over to Erik again.

"So I called upon Monsieur de'Chagny. It was a pleasant evening, not too cold, and we decided to go a block further before turning back. Though our chatter lightly touched the air, we heard scuffling and muffled noise coming from an alley. Raoul tried to convince me that we should leave because the situation could quickly turn foul. However, I insisted upon discovering the source of the noises."

"A trait she no doubt picked up from you, Monsieur," Raoul scolded, frowning at Erik. "It is undesirable and could have caused much harm this evening if I hadn't been present."

Christine turned to him, placing her hands over one of his, which rested on his leg. A rather frustrated expression composed her face. "Please, Raoul, allow me to finish." He shut his mouth obediently, sitting back stiffly. Christine moved back into her neutral position in which to address Erik.

"I couldn't believe my eyes when we entered the alley. There was a child and a shrouded figure. The figure was attempting to capture the child, who, luckily, struggled for his life. I refer to the attacker as a figure, sir, because we could not make out any discernable features. It was covered in shadow and a dark cloak. Well, what else could we do but come to the child's aid? Raoul and the figure struggled momentarily, but Raoul got forced back. He hit his head pretty hard against the brick of one of the surrounding buildings. So I took up any object I could find and I hit the figure with it. The figure fell and I dug my heel into its left hand. It let out a shrill cry, obviously, but lashed out and tripped me." Suddenly her eyes began to fill with tears. Though her vision began to become blurry, she didn't allow her gaze to waver. "The figure grabbed the child and took off. There was nothing I could do."

Erik was more on edge than he had thought. His nails dug into his palms at the point in the narrative where Christine had become involved in the fight. This figure had harmed her, knocked her down. It made his heart jump and his muscles tighten. He could hardly keep a grip on his reaction. Then, to make matters worse, Raoul decided it a good idea to share his opinion.

"This was all too much. Christine would never be exposed to such situations if she were safely under my protection. This is all your fault, Monsieur. You are a magnet for danger and violence."

Erik opened his mouth to retort, but was rendered speechless by Christine's defense.

"Raoul, bite your tongue!" she shot at him. All traces of tears in her eyes were gone. They were dried by an angry fire burning threateningly deep inside. "If it wasn't for him I would be dead! I owe Erik my life, and I gladly hand it over to him."

"Christine, he isn't capable of watching over you, of protecting you. He shows only annoyance toward your presence in his house. He is gone more than half the time. He is not there for you. He does not care for you."

"He cares for me more than you will ever be capable of comprehending!" Her ferocity brought her to her feet, her fists clenched at her sides.

Raoul stood to meet her, but in a calmer fashion. "Christine, please. Be reasonable."

"I've never been more reasonable in my life, Raoul!" She grabbed his hand and marched out of the room dragging him along. Her footsteps led to the front door, which was thrown open. "Leave. I don't want to see you here again."

"Christine-"

"Be quiet! I want you to just get out, just leave."

"What has come over you, Christine?"

"In my past, I was blinded. I've grown up and I've changed. I can never now be with someone as closed-minded and ignorant as you, Raoul. Don't come see me again."

There was a loud slam. Erik listened in stunned silence to everything that played before his eyes and even that which happened outside of his sight. He tried to review what exactly Christine had said, but it all seemed to blur together in the heat of the moment. The house was now uncomfortably quiet. He was suddenly in an unknown position. He didn't know where to go from there.

Madame Giry slid slowly into the room with a cup of tea and set it down carefully in front of her manager. She then took up the seat next to him, being gentle in every movement so as not to startle him. He was frozen, his body having fallen into a lax position. He didn't move; he didn't breath. His lungs were beginning to ache from the stagnant air inside of them.

"She thought that the encounter might be of some use to the case," Madame Giry whispered. "She said the figure could share the same identity as the one that kidnapped Meg."

Erik slowly looked over at Madame Giry and nodded absently. He reached down and picked up his teacup and saucer and took a sip. The warm liquid relieved his innards. It was comforting and relaxing.

"You know that the boy's animosity stems only from his position of second. He's lost the woman in his life to a most unsuspected competitor."

Erik choked on the tea. He coughed slightly, setting the china back onto the table. He wiped his mouth and checked back in with Madame Giry.

"D-Don't be absurd," he stammered, still coughing a bit and looking away.

"Absurdity is only absurdity if it is false." Madame Giry collected the previous tea set and stood. She was about to exit the room to drop the dishes off in the kitchen, but stopped and pivoted toward him. "For a detective, sir, you are not as perceptive as you think." And she flitted out of the room, leaving Erik alone with the dying fire.


	13. The Right Words

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Sorry for late updates. I have the time, but not the inspiration, I'm afraid. Please forgive me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It was pretty interesting to write. It's another little Erik/Christine moment, but it also has a little twist. Anyway, I am going on vacation in a few days. I'll have a laptop, but I don't know if I will be able to update. I promise to do so when I get back, even if I have to write a chapter or two out by hand and just transfer it to the computer.

**Section 13**

- The Right Words

It had taken all of the effort he possessed to stand up, trudge over to the staircase, and begin the eternal climb. It wasn't that he didn't want to console the distressed Christine. In fact, that was the one thing he was sure of. He hated to see her under such conditions. He would do everything in his power to ensure she would never invoke that emotion. No, it wasn't that aspect of the ascension that he dreaded. It was that he had no idea how to properly comfort her. He did not have a very good grasp on the whole sympathy and empathy notions. He was still learning.

With each lift of his foot and each step left in his wake, though, he attempted to compose himself. Plans of the right words to say ran through his mind, various and all seemingly to his disapproval. He shook his head at each new idea. At the top of the stairs, he couldn't help thinking how impossible the task was. He just couldn't handle it. Yet, his feet moved forward, toward the woman's chambers. His heart pumped fast, taking control of every motion.

He didn't even know why he was overreacting. After all, it wasn't as if Christine had blurted out three little words about him. No, that would never happen. Ever. But the situation had been awkward enough like she had. She had finally told Raoul de'Chagny off. The young, disillusioned chap had pined over Miss Daaé like some sickening pup. Yes, that was exactly what the young gentleman reminded him of. He had planned a life without including the most essential piece: the woman's consent.

He stopped at the door, staring down at the frightening knob. It would bite him at any moment should he reach out a hand and grasp it. He took a deep breath, shaking his shoulders slightly to decrease the tension. That did little good. He bravely stretched out his arm until his palm encompassed the metal handle. Metaphorically, as well as literally, he entered foreign territory.

Erik's breath caught in his throat as soon as he stepped onto the off-white carpeting. He had to take a moment to glance around at the place. It was the brightest room in the house. Instead of an excess of black and dark colors like everything else in the dreary homestead, her room consisted of mainly light colors. It was such an offset to everything he was.

The carpet was off-white. A large bed in the middle of one of the walls was decorated in white lace. Matching curtains hung over the two windows. The wardrobe was fashioned out of a light wood. The same material made the small desk, too. The divan had a darker wooden frame around the white fabric. Any decorations within sight were of pinks and reds and purples and blues. There was nothing gloomy about the room except for the young lady sitting on the edge of the bed with her back facing the doorway.

Erik moved slowly across the threshold until he came up right beside her. He took an uncomfortable, uncertain seat next to her, yet waited to say anything. He didn't even look over at Christine to see that she stared pathetically down at her hands in her lap. He was giving himself some extra time to try and think of anything that might be helpful. Even with the excess, nothing came to him. His mind was blanker than it had been ascending the staircase.

"Well," he finally breathed, "this has to be the brightest room in the entire house. I must say, I was taken aback upon first entering."

A small, emotionless smile edged his lips as he looked over at Christine. However, she didn't respond or even shift in her spot. Perhaps it had been unwise to start with a little humor. The situation was way too serious to think that it could pass over with a little heartiness, no matter how lame or not it was.

So he cleared his throat and tried again, staring ahead stoically. "Christine, I know tonight's event was fairly awkward and discomforting. You have no reason to be upset or feel as if you did wrong. You should never doubt your decisions in life."

Finally she looked up. He must have done good.

"Oh, Monsieur," she whispered, "I'm not saddened by what happened. It was bound to occur someday." She looked back to her hands. "I'm afraid that Raoul just has the wrong idea about, well, a lot of things. He is too tainted by society to see outside of the little plastic world it has created. He doesn't know that he is in a box, and I just hoped that I could show him a way out."

"It's hard, Christine. People are hard-headed and stubborn. They would rather things remained easy, familiar. They are so set on schedules and patterns. Anything out of the average is frightening to them."

"Yes, I believe that, too. But I know Raoul, and he is capable of overcoming it. At least, I thought I knew him."

That was when Erik saw the red scarf clutched in her hands. The fabric had been hidden in the folds of her skirt. However, this object entranced her. It took her to the past when times were simple and choices were not so difficult. Innocence always proved to be most favorable.

"When we were younger, everything was much different. The world was a place to be discovered. It was an insatiable adventure. You always hear about how bad naivety is or can be, but really it is the best way to view this harsh planet."

Erik stared at the wall, searching its surface. The edges of his nerves were active with electricity. He couldn't relax, but his voice had calmed down. He was getting into the conversation, letting whatever was in his heart be voiced instead of trying to think of a rational response.

"You can't live in the dark forever," he said softly. "You can't go through life with a mask over your eyes. Doing that is worse than falling prey to conformities. In the previous case, you don't see truth like you do in the latter. And though conforming means that you ignore those truths, at least you have a chance. Naivety offers only falsehood and a pool of lies that one will always drown in."

She looked at him, speechless. Her mouth hung open only slightly. She couldn't find any words to occupy the empty space, though. He was sure that tears threatened the barriers she had built up, but wouldn't ease up. The best thing to do, he decided, was to continue with what was right.

"You're right, Christine. Raoul has a good chance of breaking away from the bonds of society. Tonight, you set a spark to the chains holding him in place. He has something to think about. He has a life to reevaluate. He will finally pull of the blindfold, open his eyes, and look at the world around him as something new. Because of you and the words that touched his heart, he will be able to evolve." Erik looked over at her. "You did good, Christine."

A small smile steadily drew across her face. "Oh, Monsieur."

She flung her arms up and around him before he had any time to react. She had embraced him in a sloppy hug. His eyes had grown round and his mouth had dropped open slightly. His posture was stiff as he tried to process what was going on. Then, just when he had, she released him and sat back a safe distance.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to be so bold. It just makes me glad to hear that you haven't given up on Raoul. I thought you didn't like him."

"Well…" was his response, looking away so she wouldn't see the hesitant expression on his face. He cleared his throat and his tone became solemner afterward. "Christine."

"Yes?"

"I want to thank you for defending me tonight, too. No one has ever really done that for me. It was a first and it was…well, just thank you."

"I would come to your defense at any time, Monsieur. That's the truth."

Erik was afraid to glance her way. He knew that Christine was staring at him very earnestly. He couldn't be sure what else he would find there, so he continued to stare dumbly straight ahead. He shifted a little in his spot, trying to find anything to distract from the intense atmosphere. And in so doing, suddenly something began jabbing uncomfortably into the side of his leg.

"What is that?" he muttered to himself.

He stood up and dove into his pocket to reveal the source of the discomfort. Extracting the object, he held it tightly in his palm with his fingers acting as a sort of shield. He stared down at the ring he had found. The diamonds were dead with no light to bring them to life.

"What is it?" Christine asked, trying to get a look.

Erik opened his palm more so that the piece of jewelry was visible.

"It's just this ring I found today at the Opera House. It had fallen in the alley that the ballet girls come and go from. I thought it might be of some use to Meg's case. It obviously belongs to some wealthier gentleman. Seeing as how most wealthy citizens do not go tramping about in filthy alleyways everyday, I figured it could be from the kidnapper. What do you think?"

However, he didn't receive a response. Curious as to why, he glanced over at Christine. Her mouth was dangling open and her eyes were wide. Her hand had gone up to cover her mouth in a sort of silent gasp. Her gaze was locked on the ring and nothing more.

"What's wrong?" Erik inquired.

"I-I know that ring," she stammered quietly.

"What? How?"

"The night of Meg's performance, I saw that ring."

"Christine, where did you see it? Who does it belong to?"

Her eyes shifted upward to Erik's. Fear coated hers, while determination coated his.

"I don't know, Monsieur. I don't know who it belongs to. We were at André's and there was a man sitting in a darkened corner. Shadows hid his face, but his hand was stretched out toward his mug." Her hand dropped to the scarf, which she gripped tightly with petrified excitement. "That ring adorned his finger, sir, and that man was watching Meg." She paused for a second. "He was stalking her."


	14. Facing the Truth

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Ah, I am so bad about updating. But, alas, I was kept rather busy with several things that came up. So excuse this lateness. I also apologize for any confusion in this chapter. I hope you like it, nonetheless. I know it was fairly entertaining to write.

**Section 14**

- Facing the Truth

Evening of the anticipated meeting came sooner than expected. With no other engagements planned for the day, Erik spent the daylight prepping for what would likely be a strange encounter. He contemplated what subtopics would arise on the main discussion of Monsieur Jacque Marignon. There was much suspicion Erik had toward the man. He could only hope that some could be laid to rest, whether for the better or for the worse of the man's reputation, by the end of the meeting.

The idea of the informational was queer, and the host was labeled under the same impression. Her antics from the night before arose concerns regarding her character, her intentions, and her sanity. Hurling a stone through a window was not considered normal behavior of those times. And even though it was obvious some sort of great distress had caused her emotions to permanently take control of her very being, it seemed that an unexpected and wrenching cause would have to be behind such an uncharacteristic act of an otherwise proper and stoic society. In other words, something had to have driven her to apparent madness. The noticeable disdain she had for a certain entrepreneur placed enough blame that even an unbiased eye had to be blind not to question the suspect.

Erik couldn't help being curious about another temporarily unanswerable aspect of the initial run-in. The handshake, the only sign of some civility, had revealed an odd externality upon the woman's hand. Though having visibility only by a pathetic streetlight, there had been no doubting the acidic-like deformity of the skin atop her hand. Forgetting pretty much everything that occurred previous to the events that had gone on in the comfort of his home, because of the very chaos it had wrought on several people's emotions, upon reevaluation it became undeniably clear that the cloak was meant to hide the affliction that was wider spread than first thought. The idea of it also working as a shield against recognition had likewise crossed his mind. No matter how peculiar the situation was, he wasn't about to back out.

Even if they had shared a heartfelt talk one night ago, Erik kept his destination a secret from Christine. He knew she would try to tag along and help in anyway possible. He didn't want her to do so or maybe even worry about him. She had exhausted herself mentally and emotionally and the only thing she needed to do at the moment was rest. If anything important came up, he would inform her later.

Madame Giry was fairing better than days past. Though she didn't smile and barely spoke, at least she didn't worry herself into a fit of tears or make herself sick by fretting. Her color was paler than normal and her gaze had lost its familiar sparkle. She seemed like a stoic shell of her former self with no personality and a slowly distinguishing flame of life, which would surely die altogether should she hear her daughter would never be seen again. Having relied entirely upon each other for many years, Madeleine Giry and Meg Giry had formed a stronger, dependent bond than most mothers and daughters. So she wasn't just in danger of losing a child—it was so much more than that. And Erik was not going to allow either of the two to suffer in solitude like him.

That was the reason he arrived early to the designated meeting spot. He didn't want to miss this mysterious woman for any reason. As far as he was concerned, she was the lead he had been looking for. Apart from the diamond studded ring, she had pulled him out of a rut where he had been grabbing blindly at straws. He would be thankful for anything she could provide him with, and he'd make it work.

Never learning of the particular place within the park that the meeting was supposed to take place, Erik strolled around the deserted area. His eyes ran over the empty benches, the placid lake, and the unfamiliar solitude of the otherwise boisterous public place. It seemed surreal, eerie almost. Yet, he remained unfazed. In fact, by the dim light offered by the moon and the scattered lamps, one would almost be able to catch the faint smile cracked on his normally stony face.

A snap. A twig broken by exerted weight. He turned around to a cluster of trees where the sound had emanated from. Without the dim rays backing a small 'v' like shape between two trunks, since the rest of the growth was all shadow and darkness, he wouldn't have been able to catch the figure that stepped out from behind one of the trees into that very unoccupied gap. Its appearance in front of the light gave off an ethereal presence, yet the blackness of its entirety offered up a suggestion of just the opposite inhabitance.

"So you came," the familiar female voice whispered.

She seemed unwilling to step forward, so Erik decided to move toward her. She waited for him to draw nearer before saying anything more. A closer proximity offered more relief than shouting halfway across an open area.

"How could I not?" Erik replied upon approach. He dropped his voice a decibel or two when close enough to make out the details of the robe she wore. "Shall we get down to business then? What did you need to disclose to me?"

The hood flicked this way and that, taking extra precaution in checking that they were completely alone. Once satisfied, she seemed to lean in even closer to him, focused back on the white mask covering half of his face.

"Jacque Marignon is not who he appears to be," she began slowly, taking her time. "He blinds people with a charming, flattering front, but his corruption courses deep." She paused, seemingly to collect her thoughts. There was probably a load on her mind, such that she couldn't properly organize. It had probably rested there a great deal of time.

Before she could find the words to continue on, though, Erik took the opportunity to offer a question. "Please, tell me your name before you proceed."

There was blatant hesitation—a sigh. A name meant traceability. It meant exposure. It could even mean her life, if the situation was dire enough. Yet, she only debated this a few moments. It seemed she regarded him better than he initially thought.

"Carolina Hargreaves."

"It's a pleasure, Madame Hargreaves," Erik greeted formally. She gave a slight tip of her head in acknowledgement. "Now, please, where were we?"

"His product, Le Jeune Marignon, is just a…mask." She faltered at the last word, but quickly regained her charged, secretive tone. "It has become an instant craze, but the people need to know just how dangerous it is. They want youth. They want beauty. Yet, they won't find that there. All that…that…filth brings is…is…"

Her voice faltered and failed. Her head had drooped and her shoulders tremored slightly. She had started weeping—silently so as to not draw the attention. It was emotional torture for her to come out and say the truth of the matter. Erik didn't want to push her, but he needed more. He needed her to go on.

"What does it bring, Madame Hargreaves?" he cooed.

A sob escaped her throat. There was a sniffle, and she reached up to most likely brush some tears from her eyes, though the drawn hood made it impossible to pinpoint. He was rendered speechless during the time it took for her hand to move up to the shadows engulfing the hood's interior. He reminded himself about the conclusions he had drawn regarding her distorted skin and the cloak. He became transfixed with the ideas for just that moment, wondering what condition lay beneath the outer layering. His fingers itched at his sides, yearning to discover whether his assumptions were true or false.

"Sorry," Carolina whispered, breaking the spell her deformity had placed upon the unsuspecting victim.

Erik shook his head, partly to regain his composure and partly to dismiss her apology. He couldn't quite understand the reason for her emotional response, but he was a patient man. He had had a feeling the process wouldn't be easy.

"Don't apologize," he gently told. "You have obviously experienced a great misfortune at the hands of this man. Whatever it may be, I hope that it comforts you to know that you can trust in me what you will. Though I cannot tell you why, I may even be able to understand to some extent the pain which he brings you. I can help."

The dark abyss that was her face was directed right at him. There was a long silence between them, as if she were trying to decide if he really was capable of understanding where she was coming from. It was like she didn't know if he could have experienced something as apparently difficult as she had. But in the end, she deemed him worthy of empathy, making it known by grabbing his hand with a talon-like grip and roughly dragging him toward the nearest lamppost.

Before he could question her actions, she cut him off. "You want to help, you want me to give you detailed answers, but you don't even know what you are dealing with yet." She stopped abruptly right under the artificial glow, pivoting on him. "Can you handle the truth, Monsieur Erik? Can you help the helpless and save the damned?"

Erik's gaze was intense and powerful. It was difficult trying to study mere shadow. Yet, with an unwavering eye, with absolute certainty in his voice, without giving any reason for doubt, in a hushed strong voice he replied, "Yes."

"I see," Carolina replied.

She took a step back, raising her hands to her hood. The extremity extended to both appendages. Now he was about to see if it went even further than that. His stomach churned in anticipation. She held the cloth softly between her fingers, and, without further ado, dropped the hood.

The only reaction to the sight now before his eyes was the breath that caught in his throat. There was no outwardly noticeable response. There was nothing to cause the woman to submerge her face back into darkness. However, now he realized why she had chosen to use the shield of the large overcoat.

Her light brown hair had initially been up in a bun, but was now more messily hanging out of it. Her brown eyes gleamed with a fiery intensity not normally seen in women of the era. They were red and puffy around the edges from the tears that had soaked them only minutes earlier. Yet, the main attraction was neither of these otherwise startling qualities. The skin composing her face was burnt and scarred. Like her hands, it appeared as if an acidic substance was the cause. In its own way, though, cut-like indentations also deformed the surface. A cut crossed her upper lip, raising it slightly to show off a couple pearly whites lying beneath it. Her cheeks were sunken in, and she looked sickly on top of all the scarring. The sores were red and some appeared open. Some could have recently bled. There was so much going on with her appearance that is was difficult to describe and to take each possibility in at once.

Silence had fallen for minutes on end between them without any realization on Erik's part. He was still trying to deduce what was before his eyes. He couldn't even feel the stagnant breath starting to pinch his lungs and ache throughout his entire body. It was Carolina who had to draw him out of his hypnosis.

"Still believe you can help?"

Erik nodded dumbly then caught himself. "Are you trying to tell me that the youth cream did this to you?"

A foreign noise echoed in the distant, causing both night lurkers to jump toward the interruption. Carolina replaced the hood so that shadow swathed her entire face, sending the extreme deformity back into hiding. Without finding any accompaniment to the random sound, the two turned back to each other to finish with the conversation. However, the noise had jittered Carolina more than it had Erik. She was on edge now, jumpy and hurried.

"We no longer have time, Monsieur. I am afraid that our meeting has been discovered by unwanted company," she gasped.

"Wait, you must explain this to me," Erik pleaded quietly. "I must know how this happened to you."

"Le Jeune Marignon," she breathed, starting to stray away.

"What about Jacque?" he swiftly questioned, attempting to get any last information out of her before she completely fled the scene. "What about Jacque Marignon? Madame, please, this is of the utmost importance."

"I cannot! I am sorry. They have already found me." She gave a frantic wave and started off. "I must go. I shall find you at some safer time."

Erik watched her slowly disappear from view until she was completely blended with the night. He sighed aloud. Despite the vast emptiness of the park, he felt muffled, as if unseen predators were closing in upon him. He turned away from where he had watched Carolina Hargreaves desperately strut away. He was grateful for what she did share, but it hadn't been much, and it had been fairly vague. He didn't know what else to do then to go back to his abode and address what he had been given.

But what was that? Bang. A shot in the dark. Erik had turned toward the blast that reverberated in the night. His breathing increased and became ragged. He paused, listening intently, but nothing followed the recognizable tune of a gunshot. A gunshot. Oh, no. He was in a sprint in the direction it had come from. No, please no. Each footfall pounded down the path Carolina had just tread. He feared the worse. How could he not?

He slid to a stop. A dark lump was strewn across the path ahead of him. He couldn't decipher it from the distance he was at, but it caused the blood in his veins to run cold. He moved slower now toward the hunched figure, stepping carefully as if shards of glass surrounded him in bare feet. Then, hovering over the collapsed silhouette, he clearly recognized it as human. Not just any human, but his informer.

Erik knelt beside the body and turned her over to chase away any second doubts. Sure enough, the hood fell away and revealed Carolina Hargreaves' recognizable features. Panic filled his entirety. He saw the deep crimson puddle forming beneath the woman. Lifting her onto his lap, he felt the small puncture where the bullet had entered her back and tried to cease the flow coming from it with his hand. To no avail, though. The life was literally oozing out of her.

Erik shook his head. Carolina's brown eyes shifted toward his sorrowful face. Despite the deformation, it was evident her skin had paled from the loss of blood. He couldn't do anything other than stare back down at her stoic face. He was helpless, useless. Everything was out of his control. Out of control.

"Remember," she wheezed, "he's not…what…he seems." She took a shaky breath. "Nothing's…ah…what it seems."

"Shh, don't talk," Erik cooed.

She coughed a couple of times, blood trickling down the side of her mouth. She was stubborn even at a time like this. She wasn't about to give in to his command. She did what she liked.

"Don't trust…what you see."

"I understand. Know, I won't rest until I have thoroughly investigated this man," Erik soothed.

Her head turned away from him and she looked up into the stars dotting the night sky. A small smile stretched painfully onto her lips. "My boy…my son...is waiting. I…ah…see him. He's so handsome."

A gust of breath escaped her lungs, the last of its kind from this body. A pleasant grin had remained in place to the very end. Her eyes twinkled, reflecting the stars she had now joined. The fire had extinguished, though. It would never return to this body ever again.


	15. The Bittersweet Melody of Time

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note: **I'm glad everyone enjoyed that last chapter. It was rather fun to write. Anyway, Carolina and the mystery surrounding her will unveil itself soon enough. I will try, try, try my hardest to update sooner for the remaining chapters of this installment. It is coming to a close, slowly but surely.

**Section 15**

- The Bittersweet Melody of Time

His entire body felt numb; his limbs weighed like concrete blocks as he slumped along in the darkness, not capable of moving faster than his sloth-like pace. Even though the park was just a few blocks from his mansion, the trek lasted longer in his mind than he would have preferred. He kept his gaze transfixed on the horizon, barely visible between the buildings of the city, fearing the golden rays of dawn would break through the black spell and reveal to the world the large crimson stain upon his breast. He was grateful to the night once again. It always turned out to be a loyal friend in his most dire hours. He remembered a time when he loathed the very darkness, which was now the only place he could find solace. Oh, how time changes things.

Time changes all things. The image of Madame Carolina Hargreaves' glazed over brown eyes and dead expression appeared before his eyes. Her horrid skin deformity was detailed and clear as if she had risen from the dead and now stood directly in front of him. He blinked the face away, allowing the numbness to extend to his brain. It took over, spiraling him into a state of dumbness, where his feet moved of their own accord along a familiar path toward the known destination. He was safe inside of his well of blindness. He had fallen down the long shaft once before in his life. Even at that moment, he knew he hadn't yet reached the bottom. He was still weightless, drowning.

But there was a muffled cry this time that had not been present in his previous visit. He felt his plummet gradually slowing down until halting altogether. The voice kept persisting, becoming clearer and clearer. The blackness of the well was dissipating. The familiar vocals were dispelling the darkness, dragging him, confused, from the depths of oblivion. With a blink of his hazel eyes, he came to. His vision sent messages to his brain, filling the numbness. It took a moment for him to take full recognition of his surroundings. Looking here and there, he realized he was standing in the doorway of his very own house.

"Erik!"

It was the voice—shrill, concerned, right in front of his face. He allowed his gaze to sweep over the young woman standing only inches from him. He placed the long brown curls trailing over her bony shoulders, the deep green pools that always seemed to penetrate his soul. Worry was evident there in the form of small wet stains threatening to spill out at any moment. No, don't cry.

"Erik!"

He realized she had been calling his name for a while now, shaking his shoulders to get him to come to. He blinked again, grasping everything in the next minute.

"Christine," he whispered, searching her eyes.

"Oh, Erik!" she cried. "You weren't responding for the longest time—just standing there mutely. I thought…I thought you would keel over dead right in front of me, you're so covered in blood!" She tried to usher him further into the house.

Erik looked down at his shirt. The blood still glistened, drying at its own pace. The stain stood as a grim symbol of the sin of the night, a scarlet letter of death. He yielded a few steps then stopped and looked back into Christine's horrified, frantic expression.

"It's not my blood," he muttered almost inaudibly.

Christine ceased her attempt, releasing him. She let her arms fall limply to her sides. Leaning in a little, as if to convey some dark secret, her eyes desperately sought his, the puddles of tears still on the edge of her lower lids.

"What happened?" she questioned quietly. "Where did you go? What did you see?"

"Wake Madame Giry," Erik replied just as hushed. "I'll need some tea."

As Madame Giry busied herself in the kitchen preparing the order, Erik recounted his exploit to Christine, starting from the initial encounter the night previous. She was patient with the slow pace at which he spoke, offering whispered words of comfort and urges whenever appropriate. He concluded his adventure a moment before Madame Giry pushed through the swinging door brandishing a small tray. She set a pot down in front of her master, along with a cup and saucer already filled.

"Your special brew, sir," she informed then set a second pot in front of Christine. She laid a full cup down for the young woman before sitting across from the same dame. She had brought along a third cup for herself, this one empty.

"I was so close," Erik mumbled, staring at the waterfall of brown liquid spilling from the spout of the teapot and into the empty corresponding cup. "This only proves that Marignon is hiding something."

"What are you going to do?" Christine asked, though she was sure she already knew the answer.

"Tomorrow I have to go back to that factory. Whatever he's covering up is there."

"I'm coming with you," she immediately stated.

Erik's eyes shot to the young woman. "I can't let you do that. It could be dangerous. What he did to Madame Hargreaves is an example of his brutality and ruthlessness."

"I'm not scared. Let me go with you," she begged. "He fooled me once with that guise of his and I shall not let it happen again. I owe him for his trickery."

Erik sighed, sipping the concoction in front of him. The liquid was warm and soothing. It hit the spot, made his blood churn faster in his veins. He could tell there would be no stopping Christine from tagging along. The only thing he could do was admit her. Though he felt spiritually and mentally drained, he couldn't deny the rising adrenaline at the very edge of it all. It would start with mere excitement and gradually peak to something more powerful.

"Alright," he said, the china cup clinking against its coaster. "Just try to follow every instruction I give. We may only have one chance at this and I will not waste it."

-----

Erik never shut his eyes once that evening. He sat by the front window watching the sunrise with his tea. He instructed Christine to get some more rest and for Madame Giry to just go about her normal routine. He would have forgotten all about the bloody shirt he adorned if Christine hadn't mentioned him changing. So there he sat, with a clean outfit, forging plans in his mind.

The teapot was empty and the sun had been up for a number of hours when Christine finally descended the staircase in a sapphire colored gown. Her hair was pulled back from her face with twin barrettes. He noticed her presence, but said nothing as she went quietly to him and hovered over one of his shoulders, peering out the same window. It was minutes of this silent portrait, each basking in the other's company. Finally, Erik stood and fetched Joseph Buquet, and they were on their way in another matter of minutes.

The factory loomed over the two individuals, familiar and haunting. They knew that its secrets were about to be cracked. They were about to get to the source. Erik led the way through the front doors and to the very reception desk they had walked up to for the tour.

"May I help you?"

It was the same man that had greeted them before. Erik was surprised he didn't recognize the mask. Then again, he was sure that so many faces came through that even a white porcelain mask would not be that memorable. All the better.

"We are here to seek a word with Monsieur Jacque Marignon," he declared.

"What is your business?"

Erik stopped, not quite knowing how to answer that. The pause was likely to offer suspicion, so he opened his mouth, ready to say something, anything. He didn't care. He would just start talking in order not to blow this thing. However, before he could ramble, the feminine voice next to him interrupted.

"We are looking to back his product," Christine saved, coming forward with confidence and superiority. "We find that there could be a good deal of money and we would like to invest."

A smile spread across the man's face. He seemed pleased with this answer, very pleased. He stood up and came out from behind the desk.

"In that case, please follow me." He began to lead them down a new hallway, one they hadn't been through during the previous visit. "Monsieur Marignon will be very happy to meet with you. He is in a meeting at the moment, though." He stopped in front of a closed door and turned the handle. He pushed it inward and ushered them ahead. "If you'll wait in his office here, he'll be right with you. Thank you for your interest in our product." He closed the door behind them and his footsteps slowly faded away.

Erik was slightly surprised at how easy that had seemed. He looked to Christine, who gave him a knowing look back. He cleared his throat, nodding a sort of thank you toward his counterpart.

"Well, let's get to work," he instructed.

"Doing what?"

"Looking for anything that might be useful and incriminating."

They started about the office, pulling open drawers of the desk and searching through files in the cabinets. Nothing seemed particularly interesting. It all regarded the factory: employee contracts, certificates, instructions. The office didn't look as if it would offer anything up.

Erik perused the wooden desk, while Christine remained at the cabinets. He was rifling through a folder of building designs and blueprints. Suddenly he stopped and peered down closer at one of the pages. It was for one of the boiler rooms where the cream was actually put together. For such a small container, it seemed like it needed an awfully large furnace, and for what purpose, he couldn't comprehend. Before he could pursue this path any farther, though, he heard footsteps approaching.

"Christine," he whispered.

She instantly looked up, holding her breath. The footsteps stopped in front of the door. She began putting away all of the papers she had extracted at once. Erik began to do the same. Time was running out. They would be caught after they'd gotten this far. The door handle began to turn. That was it. The sand had reached the bottom of the hourglass. That was it.

Time's up.


	16. To the Door

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's building up to the climax now. I should have the next chapter up fairly soon after this one, but we'll see. I always say that it ends up being weeks. I am determined to get this next one up earlier, though. Anyway, enjoy!

**Section 16**

- To the Door

"Thank you," Jacque Marignon called over his shoulder to the other gentleman that had been accompanying him down the hall.

His hand already encompassing the handle, he pushed open the door leading to his office, passing one more smile to the gentleman before turning inward and shutting the door. Stopping just within the doorway, his eyes slowly swept over the office as if his mind was at work noting every single scrap of material. Then his gaze came in full circle and landed directly on the two backs that occupied the two chairs in front of his desk. Feeling he had paused long enough, Jacque cleared his throat and walked forward to sit down behind his desk.

"I apologize for having kept you both waiting," he said in his business tone while taking the small trek.

Once he was comfortable, he raised his eyes to his guests' faces. Doing so, he gave a minute start, recognizing the two that sat in front of him. He was speechless for a moment as he tried to register what was going on. His assistant had informed him that this was a meeting he wanted to take. All he saw before him, though, was the strange couple that had attended his free tour.

"You," he breathed before he could stop himself.

He looked immediately embarrassed, dropping his head a bit and silently swallowing hard. He ran a hand against his luscious locks, trying to regain his composure and make up for any rudeness that might have come off. He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he didn't want to ruin any beneficial chances that could be possible.

"Surprised?" Erik murmured, not giving the other man a chance to redeem himself.

"Yes, I am sorry for my reaction." He could now look from one to the other, still feeling the hotness of his cheeks. "It's just that I didn't know that it was you two I was meeting with. I remember the pair of you from the tour not too long ago."

Erik and Christine had just barely made it into the armchairs when Jacque Marignon had come through the door. They had his brief pause inside the room to cool their composures. Now they struck an air of importance and formality. Erik had one leg crossed atop the other and his hands rested entwined in his lap. Christine sat with her back straight, perfect posture. Her hands were daintily placed in her lap. Both stared directly at the man, appearing ready to get down to business.

"So, how can I help you both?" Jacque Marignon asked, bringing his hands into a steeple position atop the desk. He leaned into them, finding a comfortable spot, while still maintaining a good view.

Christine watched the entire motion his hands took, unable to look away. The reason for being so transfixed were the black leather gloves covering his hands. It seemed fairly odd to her that he should be wearing them indoors, especially when there wasn't even a draft. Her heart began to pound harder in her chest and her nerves rippled in anxiety.

"Monsieur," she interrupted directly after his question, sounding rather robotic and stoic, "I cannot help commenting on those finely tailored gloves you have on. However, I am unable to see the purpose for such nice articles inside a tepid conditioned building."

Erik shot her a hard stare. He made no other motion, though every end in his body was screaming to grasp her shoulders and inquire about her motive. Was she trying to get them caught? Was she aware she could blow their cover? They were so close now, he could taste the sweet flavor of success. Anything, however little, that went amiss could mean the end of them.

"Thank you," Jacque Marignon replied, outwardly unaffected by her forwardness. "These are one of my favorite pairs. And, you're right. It is out of the ordinary that I would be wearing them indoors, but this morning I seemed to have come down with an extraordinary rash starting at my hands and stretching up my arms." He gave a stark chuckle. "I know it may seem vain of me to cover up with these," he wriggled his fingers, "but what can I say? I still need to be able to do my job. A rash may affect the product."

He smiled politely at Christine, who continued to stare blankly back at him. She didn't know whether or not to trust he was being sincere. Yet, after just a moment, she gave a small smile in return, letting him know it was alright to change the subject and continue with the business aspect of their visit.

"So what can I do for you?"

Erik, vastly relieved, averted his eyes back to the man at the head of the room. "We are actually here on a bit of business. You see, the tour was merely to get a general idea of the establishment. We are actually interested in investing in your product and becoming patrons."

A gleam flickered in Jacque Marignon's eye then a smile slowly spread across his face. He appeared to be genuinely enticed by this proposal. His mind left the room, even the present, for a moment. Perhaps he was imagining his cream traveling worldwide. Perhaps he was dreaming of the profit an offer could bring. Whatever had caused him to lapse in his attention, left just as swiftly as it had come.

"I must say," he worded as soon as he had found his tongue, "this comes as a pleasant surprise, a very pleasant surprise indeed. You two do very well at remaining anonymous. I never would have guessed." He swallowed, shifting in position. His gaze fell to the surface in front of him, searching it. "I had been hoping for sponsors, not necessarily this soon, and it seems so…impossible now that it can actually happen."

Erik put on a friendly grin. "The tour was entertaining. You, I must say, are charming and amusing; and, the product itself is absolutely fantastic. It is sure to be a hit anywhere. How could we say no to such an outlook?"

Jacque Marignon opened his smiling mouth to utter something more, but had to close it when nothing would come. He stood up and walked out from behind the desk to sit upon its surface directly in front of his guests. It looked like a mask of happiness was glued upon his face and would never budge for the rest of time. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his feet crisscrossed, so that the leaning posture was balanced and sturdy.

"Are there papers that need to be signed? Or how do we make it official?" he finally was able to ask.

"Actually, before we get started on the details, Mademoiselle Daeé and I were hoping to have a more extensive tour of the establishment."

The smile fell instantly. Slight panic appeared in his eyes and across his brow. However, he played it off. He pretended that it was simply shock and nothing more. But Erik had seen it and found comfort in his conclusion in recognizing it.

"Not that I'm denying you access to any part of the building, but is it everything that you need to see? Or are you looking for just certain aspects?" he mumbled.

Erik was aware that Christine was answering this question, but he couldn't hear what she was saying, for his eyes had fallen to the ground where Marignon's shoes were touching. He noticed a white powder traced around the edges of the bottom of them. He recognized it right away as the same he had found within the auditorium of the Opera House. It caused a smirk to play at his lips.

"…just what we didn't go over on the original tour," Christine was finishing when Erik came to.

His eyes shot up to meet and challenge Marignon's. "We want no secrets between partners."

Jacque Marignon nodded absently, lost in Erik's formidable stare. It took a minute before he realized that he had allowed silence to befall the room and that there had been an unspoken…well, something between him and Erik. Noticed, though, he quickly expelled it and moved on.

"Well then, we'll have to start with the secret ingredient, won't we, partner?"

There was something odd, unsettling about how he stated this. However, Erik allowed a smile to come to his face, while internally he struggled with this tone. Jacque Marignon stood to his full height, and Erik and Christine followed. He clasped his hands together, smiling welcomingly.

"Shall we?" He motioned toward the door.

They went ahead of him, ushered into the hall. He closed the door behind him and led them farther down the hallway. They kept their eyes fixed ahead, but the proximity of each other kept some sort of mental note there. At the very end of the hall, they stopped in front of metal door. Jacque extracted a key from his pocket, but didn't make any other motion of opening the door.

"I must warn you," he said, turning toward them, "that no one has ever used this ingredient before. This is what makes my product so successful, but also so unique. It is not any ordinary ingredient, though. It will not be…pretty."

"I am sure we can handle whatever it is you are about to throw at us," Erik asserted confidently.

Turning away, Jacque Marignon assented, "Yes, Monsieur. I just wanted to give you proper caution."

Gently, he inserted the proper end of the key into the corresponding hole under the doorknob. He peeked over his shoulder at the other two. This was it. They were about to be shown the answer. They kept their composure, while their insides boiled with anticipation and nervousness. What would they find beyond this door?


	17. Secret Ingredient

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** This chapter is mainly explaining the layout of the room, but the end gets juicy. The room's appearance is somewhat important, though, in the next couple chapters. Just because of the obvious scuffle that is going to take place and the outcome of it. Anyway, see if your suspicions were correct and enjoy!

**Section 17**

- Secret Ingredient

The large door clicked with the key's innate ability to twist the workings of the lock just so in order to admit passage. When the noise ceased after its mere second or two of existence, the key was removed and tucked safely into a pocket. Each movement seemed purposely slow, like trying to build up anticipation or put off the inevitable that much longer. Both Erik and Christine stared at the black leather glove engulfing Jacque Marignon's appendage as he stretched out his hand and allowed it to linger on the surface of the door. He looked over his shoulder at them, pausing before giving admittance.

"This is the last chance to turn back," he said softly. Though he seemed hesitant, something in his being let off an air of excitement and almost pride. However, when they failed to give a response to this, he received his answer to head forward. "Remember, I warned you it was not going to be pretty."

Without further ado, he gave the metal slab a quick shove, which caused it to give way beneath the pressure with a dull sound. So far there was nothing to see. The room beyond was a giant black hole. Marignon ushered his guests forward and, despite not knowing whether or not they may fall to their doom at any moment, they stepped carefully into the suffocating darkness.

Their senses were cut off with nothing to see, nothing to smell, nothing they could reach out for in front of them. There was nothing to be heard beyond their own deep breaths and running heart beats. Christine tried to stretch out her hand to find Erik's, but he, or maybe she, had fallen away into perhaps, or so it seemed, another world. A loud clunk from behind caused her to jump out of her skin. Then just a blink later the room began to fill with artificial light as one by one a section of luminosity zapped to life. Christine was transfixed by these large overhead spectacles. Reflected in her emerald eyes, she blinked them away when they had finished powering up and looked around to see Jacque Marignon stepping away from the now sealed door and a box of switches on the wall next to it.

"This is the room where I personally prepare the secret ingredient for every batch of Le Jeune Marignon," he explained moving up to the metal railing just ahead.

Christine now noticed that Erik had only been a few feet away from her the entire time. Her heart gave a leap of relief before instantly falling back into a nervous pulse. Familiarizing herself with her surroundings now, her jaw fell slightly agape at where she stood.

The room was large, two tall stories and about as wide as banquet room. Currently they stood on the main level, which consisted of an 'L' shape of black metal grating placed into walkways and platforms. There were a couple stairways leading down to the basement level, but not much really made up that first floor. A sort of manual crane fashioned from a rope and pulley was stationed to one side. On that same spot was a curtained platform of mystery. Apart from those eye catching pieces, only a few cupboards were scattered around them, and that was all of the main level.

The basement area, however, contained much more interesting sights. An oversized basin of bubbling mixture was out in front of the crane, which had its ropes sweeping the concrete floor. Near that was a type of steel operating table. A shelving unit most likely filled with tools was against the wall behind it. On the adjacent wall was another set of shelves behind a wooden surface, and on the wall opposite the tank were empty buckets, hoses, and a wide-mouthed incinerator. Lastly, a big square drain was cut into the middle of the floor to allow for proper clean up.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" Jacque Marignon commented to Christine.

She hadn't even realized that she had speechlessly moved to the railing where he was to take it all in. She continued to sweep over everything there. Meanwhile, Erik also scrutinized what was around him, but in a different way. He was actually starting to mentally put all of the pieces together. He just needed confirmation from the man himself to secure the ideas.

"Very," Erik answered for the wordless Christine.

He took a couple steps here and there, idly glancing around. He wrapped his arms around his torso so that his hands encompassed the opposite elbow. He pivoted around to face Jacque Marignon with a small, polite smile.

"Please explain what we are looking at," Erik offered.

"Right," Marignon started. He turned his back to the room and faced his guests to more properly explain everything. "Well below over there is the incinerator for all of the unusable concoctions and scraps. We also have hoses and buckets to clean up with and a drain in the middle of the floor to wash anything down."

He pointed over to the large basin, and Erik had to move in next to Christine in order to get a better look. They didn't even look at each other as he fell into place. Again, the close proximity was enough to send parallel mental messages through both minds.

"The tub is filled with a special concoction that turns the secret ingredient just right so that it is able to be put into the actual cream. But, it can be fairly toxic if left unwatched for too long."

Erik put on a playful grin. "That is good to know. I am sure you test each sample personally that comes from there."

"Of course," Jacque Marignon replied. "I would never allow anything with my name on it to pass into the public that could potentially be dangerous."

"A concern for the people is a good attribute. It is duly noted," Christine said softly.

He nodded and continued on. "The cupboards below contain tools and accessories necessary to carry out the process this room was built for. The steel table next to the tub is for proper measurements and cuts of the ingredient. It is then transferred to the wooden table for more additions and measurements."

He started slowly down the black grating toward the platform and pulley. He continued to engage his listeners while doing so, and allowed them to take their time before joining him. They needed to scrutinize everything, after all. He wanted them to have ample time.

"We," he stopped and rephrased, "I take great care in measuring the exact amount of each piece that is put into my product. Too much or too little of one single thing could cause the cream to turn."

Erik was done with the lower level, so he stepped away and, brushing Christine ever so slightly when passing by her, stepped toward the director. Christine followed in tow after feeling the light sensation. They moved separately, yet as one, up to Jacque Marignon, stopping once in front of him. He had his hands swept behind his back and kept his posture as erect as he could make it.

"I am sure you both are more interested in what is kept up here rather than what is down there, because behind the curtain just beyond me is the secret ingredient." He flashed a smile.

"Yes, you have kept us in much anticipation, Monsieur," Erik confessed brightly.

"Well I shall torment you no longer."

Jacque Marignon walked to the curtained off area. He went to the opposite side, where he was partially concealed by the large veil. He fiddled with some unknown thing for just a few seconds before pivoting back around to face them. His hands flew back behind him as they previously were.

"Without further ado, then, I present the secret ingredient of Le Jeune Marignon."

He was so proud in his posture and his voice. He stepped forward, by the curtain. But just as he was about to pass it up completely, he took hold of one of the folds and yanked the veil completely away with the couple strides it took to get on the opposite side of his guests.

It was like a slow-motion magic show. The magician was finally revealing the trick of his grand finale. And what a trick it was. Erik and Christine couldn't look away. Their fears and suspicions were confirmed. The veil fell, and they saw beyond it lay a plastic cage. Inside, were confused and bewildered children.

Tears stung Christine's eyes immediately, and her mouth fell open in terror and disbelief. She couldn't stifle a gasp that escaped her parted lips when she noticed the little blonde thing coming forward from the small herd.

"Meg!"

She fell forward against the barrier, Meg doing the same. They clawed at the tough plastic in desperate ignorance that their nails might actually break through it. The built up water now spilled from the brunette's eyes. The other children, who had stood their ground in bewilderment, now started slowly backing away. That, in itself, was heartbreaking enough. They knew what it meant when their existence was unveiled. They knew what happened when Jacque Marignon showed his face.

Erik's entire body was sent into life by a jolt of electricity when the secret was revealed. He had been right. No matter how much he had hoped and wished and prayed he wouldn't be, it turned out that he was. It was disgusting, immoral, absolutely spiteful. He couldn't wrap his mind around how anyone could do such a thing. It was sick. Marignon was sick. The secret ingredient all along had been human life, but more specifically children's lives.

Erik whipped around to face the monster capable of such horror and found himself staring down the short barrel of a handgun. And at the other end was the unmistakable cynical grin of Jacque Marignon.


	18. Truth Revealed

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** This is the chapter where everything falls into place. I hope it all makes sense. If you have any other questions about what happened that wasn't covered here, just ask it in a review or whatever. I'll get to it if I can. Thanks.

**Section 18**

- Truth Revealed

"Did you think I would not suspect your true intentions—that I was dumb enough to fall for your little act?" Jacque Marignon jeered at Erik.

Christine remained squatting next to the transparent cell that Meg and the missing children were housed in. Her gaze was locked on the pistol in Marignon's hand. It stayed her position, as did the unwillingness to leave her friend's side. From her peripheral vision, she knew that everyone within the cage had also gone still. Most of them still clung to one another in the farthest corners, while others were more ready to witness the goings-on like some terrible carcass attracting maggots.

Erik's eyes skirted over the barrel of the handgun and burned deeply into Marignon's gleaming pupils. He tried to remain as passive and stoic as possible, though his heart leapt in his chest. His mind matched his racing pulse rate as he tried to formulate a plan or a way out of the situation. The best way to buy some more time was to keep him talking. Keep his mind off Christine and the children, and keep his mind off of firing that gun.

"I suppose I did give you less credit than you deserve," Erik conversed, his voice level. "You seem to be a fairly good actor yourself."

"Yes, well, as you can tell I have to hang a façade over the public's eye every single day. I didn't even tell my staff of the secret ingredient for fear my cover might be blown."

"Trust no one but yourself."

"Exactly." Marignon grinned. His once charming smile now appeared cynical and taunting. Then it disappeared as he continued on. "My operation was almost revealed by the scorn and unrelenting force of one woman. But, I was able to silence her yet."

Erik's thoughts dived to the memory of Carolina Hargreaves sprawled on the ground oozing life. Through the inflicted deformity, her eyes had shone with happiness to be released from her damaged vessel.

"_Remember, he's not what he seems. Nothing's what it seems. Don't trust what you see."_

She had mentioned a son she would be seeing again. Had he been a victim of Marignon's inhuman deeds? And had he been the cause behind what had become of Carlina's complexion? There was one way to find out, and he didn't care whether or not this monster already knew of the meeting that had taken place between them.

"You're the one that killed Madame Hargreaves," he accused, though everyone already knew. "You fired the shot that night."

"Guilty as charged," he replied with a small chuckle and shrug of his shoulders. "I had a feeling, when I saw you in my office today, that she might have reached you. However, I can't see why you would be the one to receive her confidence."

"Are you also guilty of the epidemic covering her skin?" Erik continued, ignoring this last statement.

Composed to the brim with pride, Jacque Marignon veered toward Erik's bait. He couldn't ignore an inquiry on his work, and he definitely had to set things straight regarding it. "Yes and no," he defended. "It was my concoction, but not my intention."

"How do you mean?"

"I may be a sinister bastard, but I'm not concerned with deformation of vanity. My youth cream was supposed to be just that—it is just that. Madame Hargreaves came in as a test subject. You see, she needed extra money to help pay for her missing son's reward. Only three days after applying the ointment from the same jar each day, she suddenly broke out into these horrific scars. I had to get to the bottom of what was occurring. We kept her here and performed some tests. It continued to get worse and worse. The infestation had spread to her entire body before an answer came." He seemed truly sorry about the condition of her skin. It only added to his horribleness.

"I discovered that the reason she broke out was due to the specificity of the cream." Erik's confused look told him to go on. "The container she was given to test was composed of her own son. A similar concept is incest. Over time, interbreeding can cause physical changes in the family appearance. Her son's blood mixed with different chemicals then soaked into her pores offered a similar affect at an accelerated rate. Do you understand now?"

Erik was flabbergasted, horrified. His jaw had dropped in disgust and awe. Even Christine's had done the same. Erik had never imagined that this could be the extent of the cause. It was all so revolting and unbelievable. He allowed his composure to slowly return, shaking his head gently to aid it. He didn't know what to say. How was he supposed to respond to that? However, he didn't have to. Christine shouted out exactly what he was currently thinking.

"You filthy, loathsome little worm!" She was defiant and loud and didn't care about anything else in the world except putting him in his place at the moment. "How could you do this? How could you do all of this? You have no heart. You have no soul. You are going to burn in the deepest pits of Hell for this atrocity!"

Jacque Marignon gave a hearty laugh, which echoed against the barren walls all around them. The resonation of it made it come off powerful and intimidating. There was no escaping the threatening guffaw. Even shielding the ears would have had no affect. No matter how hard one would try to block it out, it was ever present. Then it gradually began to subside.

"Well," he managed, trying to catch his breath, "isn't she a saucy minx. Really, where did you find her?"

Erik pushed this aside. It made the repugnance inside of him bubble up greater. He allowed the expression on his face to become hard, his brow to furrow in hate and anger. He wasn't going to cater to Marignon. He wasn't going to give him the pleasure. Instead, he decided to retaliate in the only way he could at the moment. Though it was a hit below the belt, he diverted the topic once again, steering clear of Christine and the children. This was between the two men now. No one else existed.

"I don't think that is the only answer to Madame Hargreaves' distortion," he ventured. "That may be how it began, but I believe your product in general is to blame."

Jacque Marignon frowned, suddenly becoming very serious. His work was dear to him, and he would not stand for anyone criticizing it. "How dare you insult my grandest invention? I know my own creation. I use it myself. There is nothing wrong with it."

Erik allowed a small smile to form on his face as he became more confident about his initiative. "This is how I see it. Applying her own child's blood did accelerate a mutation, but even that could not have led to such an extent. Over time, you will find that your cream will alter anyone's appearance that uses it. You can't take advantage of human life like this. It upsets the spirit and unrests the soul. Therefore, it is in the very essence of your product that the true distortion lies."

Jacque Marignon raised the gun higher. It trembled slightly in his grasp. His eyes were stained with sadness and fury. "Be quiet! You know nothing of my creation."

"On a more personal level," Erik kept up, ignoring him, "why would you choose Meg to be one of your victims? I can see that you actually prefer a much younger company."

"When I saw her perform on that stage," and his eyes began to get distant, "I knew I had to have her. I didn't care that she was older than the usual. She would make up the portion that I would use for myself." He paused, screwing up his expression a little. "With so much popularity toward the product, though, I had to put my personal agenda on hold. So, instead, I went out to obtain more ingredients."

Christine rose slowly to her feet in the back. Her eyes were wide again and her jaw had opened just barely. She had one hand on the plastic compartment to steady herself. She suddenly figured out a piece to the puzzle—the gloves he wore. If only he could confirm it, though.

"Yes, you know what I'm about to say, don't you?" Marignon muttered to Christine, seeing her reaction. "Late one night, I was ambushed by this woman and her companion during one of my kidnappings. Luckily, I was able to make off with what I had gone out for, but not before receiving a parting gift from your lady friend."

Juggling the gun, Jacque Marignon removed the gloves he had been wearing. He threw them down at Erik's feet. Then he raised his left hand, palm inward, to reveal a big gash on the back of his hand. "Thank you," he gestured to her.

"It was you. It was you all along." Christine still held an expression of disbelief and distaste. Her voice was slow and quiet. Everything was falling into place, yet it seemed so bewildering. "You were at the ballet, and you were the one at André's staring at Meg. That ring belongs to you."

"Oh, so you found it? I was hoping it wasn't lost for good. I really do like that piece," he added lightly.

"You stalked Meg until you found the precise moment at which you could act," Erik joined. "You murdered Carolina Hargreaves, not to mention a countless number of children. There's no way you are going to get out of this."

"That's where your wrong, Monsieur." Jacque Marignon's hand became steadier, as did his voice. "I am going to get out of this, go on and become rich. You two, on the other hand, are going to die here." He shook his head and clucked three times. "Such a waste. If only both of you were younger, I might have been able to get some use out of your corpses. Oh well, time to show you the afterworld…"


	19. Into a Psychotic Mind

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Alright, so I'm on a roll. The chapters are getting updated faster now that this storyline is nearing its end. Stay tuned for the dramatic conclusion!

**Section 19**

- Into a Psychotic Mind

Erik lunged at Marignon, catching his outstretched arm just in time to deflect a bullet upward. He found himself in a sudden struggle, unaware of anything else. His mind went blank, blocked by the adrenaline pulsing in his head. His body was surged with energy, knowing only one action to take: attack to defend the innocent.

It was a battle of strength at the moment, and Erik was getting the upper hand. He was pushing Marignon's arm back, praying he would drop the firearm in discomfort from the unnatural way his appendage was twisting. But the man held fast, wanting fiercely to maintain the advantage grasped in his sweaty palm. He began to break under Erik's pressure, though, and he needed a way out fast.

With little else to do in his position, hoping that it would work, Marignon, with his free hand, reached out and grasped the white porcelain mask adorning Erik's face, threatening to pull it off. Out of habit, Erik relinquished his grasp to back away a step and clutch at the piece that was never to be removed before public eyes. Marignon took advantage of his withdrawal with a punch to his gut, which set him back even further. At that distance it was easy for Jacque Marignon to raise the weapon and fire a shot straight into Erik's shoulder.

"No!" Christine cried, her voice lost behind the echo of the released bullet.

"I see now that you and Madame Hargreaves have something in common," Marignon breathed deeply. "Tell me, did you two bond over stories of your deformities? Is that how you got her to trust you?"

Erik clutched his left shoulder. He could already feel the warm blood staining his hand. He didn't answer. He had nothing more to say to this beast. He gritted his teeth against the searing pain, allowing his anger and sense of justice to overcome the aching wound. He could feel his emotions starting to cloud his mind as well as his judgment. His vision was becoming hazy and slow. Soon it would seem as if the entire world was placed in slow-motion except for him. He recognized all the signs. Normally, he would attempt to compose himself, relax and make his rage subside. But considering who he was facing off against, he couldn't have cared less.

Then he exploded. Erik threw himself onto Marignon with an unexpected force. Caught off guard, Marignon gave way beneath, and the gun was dislodged from his hold. The metal of the firearm grated against the metal of the walkway in an earsplitting screech. As soon as it ceased, all memory of its very existence vanished. Erik shoved forward with punch after punch, gaining the initiative. He didn't halt until his enemy stumbled away.

While Erik caught his breath and waited for his opponent to face him properly, Marignon was turned away, bent over clutching his face. Pulling his hand away, he noticed the blood speckling his palm. By the swollen feel of his nose and the crimson river running from it, he concluded that his nose had been broken. The realization of this sent a whole new wave of emotions through him. Apart from madness and anxiety, he was now swarmed with anger and intense loathing.

Spinning on Erik, Marignon's normally handsome, delicate features were now contorted into an ugly, warped scowl. "Look what you've done!" he bellowed. "You've ruined my face, you bastard! Damn you!" Then they went at it again, this time with a more intense, animalistic ferocity.

Meanwhile, Christine was on her feet, staring in suspense at the scene playing before her eyes. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest for Erik, praying that every move wouldn't be his last. When she couldn't take it anymore, she turned to the cell, trying to find some distraction in figuring out how to free the captives.

Scrutinizing the surface of the plastic cube for any sign of an exit, she discovered a small door, crawl-sized, at the bottom. She squatted down and tried to push on it, but it didn't budge. Meg was following her actions, and bending to her level she shook her head then pointed to a small circular piece of the trapdoor. Looking more closely at it, Christine recognized that it was a keyhole. She couldn't aid in the escape with the only exit to the jail locked.

"Erik," she called out, "I need the key from his pocket."

Erik was too busy to give any sign of confirmation that he had heard her and understood what she wanted. He was caught up in a wrestling with Marignon. Pinned against the unsteady railing with Marignon attempting to put him over the side, he couldn't move or else succumb to his opponent. Both of them grunted slightly with the conflicting forces. Other than that, there wasn't much more that could escape their throats.

Erik managed put some space between them by slamming one of his heels into Marignon's toe. Even though it only created a couple inches breathing room, he utilized it as if he were working in a spacious open field. He threw a punch to the stomach. Marignon keeled over, and Erik went for it. He shot out toward the pocket holding the key and did all in his power to squirm his way into it and retrieve the prize.

Marignon recovered quicker than anticipated. He took hold of Erik's wrist with both hands and twisted it in an excruciating way. Erik gasped as sharp, intense pain bolted through his appendage. He beat wildly at his captor with his free hand, which seemed to do little good. Marignon's hold got tighter and stronger, until in one swift movement he finally flipped Erik over his shoulder.

Erik fell into the grate walkway hard. His back and shoulders became tight, and the breath was knocked from his lungs. He wheezed for a moment before erupting into a fit of coughs. It wasn't until the air returned to his chest that the tremors ceased. He looked up at Marignon, whose breathing was raspy and ragged. The man was looking down into Erik's face, trying to smile triumphantly. Erik, with his limbs splayed out, lying motionless on the floor, would have almost believed it.

"Give it up," Jacque Marignon gasped. "You cannot defeat me. You are weak, worthless."

Erik's eyes shifted behind Jacque Marignon to Christine over by the cell. Her hands had shot over her gaping mouth as soon as he had been air bound. Tears made her deep emerald pools shimmer beautifully. Even while staring at her, one escaped its boundaries and rolled down her pale cheek.

Even beyond her, Erik could see Meg, pressed up in anticipation against the plastic wall. Her eyes appeared wet, too, but brought on by a different emotion. Anger and vengeance was clearly etched across her face, while Christine's told of fear and eagerness. He shifted between the two, trying to find the strength that he needed to tap into more than ever now. The girls' faces began blending into one, and within that double-sided mask, a surge of power scorched up and down his body.

Marignon took a couple steps back to allow Erik to get to his feet. Erik moved at a careful and slow pace. Each muscle ached as he moved it. With a few groans here and there, though, he finally made it, panting slightly. His gaze was defiant and tough. His eyes bore into the bright blues opposite him.

"Sir," he huffed, "you are bold, it is undeniable." Marignon seemed pleased about this. "Only once before have I ever been labeled a weakling. That parting did not end so well."

"And you, sir, talk big," Marignon pointed out.

"No," Erik contradicted, "I merely speak the truth."

"Well then what are you waiting for?" Marignon stretched his arms outward, offering himself. "Back up your threat."

Erik clucked thrice, while shaking his head. "Patience is a virtue. There is one more thing I'd like to know from you."

His arms dropped to his sides and his expression turned more solemn. "Ask away."

Erik took deep breaths, trying to rack his brain for something, anything. Was there really something he had missed? Was there still a question that hadn't been answered? While his brain worked hurriedly at this, his eyes searched the ground for any help it could offer, which, obviously, was none. Yet in his desperate attempt, he came across an object of great interest that had eluded his mind.

By Christine's feet, but not in a very noticeable place, was the firearm that had been strangled out of Jacque's hands. Somehow he needed to get to that weapon before Marignon discovered its whereabouts. His gaze traveled up to Christine's face. Her eyes were already locked on him, so he had no trouble catching her stare. He made an attempt to motion to the pistol by casting his eyes from her to it repeatedly. The last thing he saw was her confused expression before there was an interruption.

"Well?" Marignon questioned.

Erik's watch flew to the man. At first he had thought that he had noticed this exchange with Christine, but soon his fears were quelled. Marignon had his hands on his hips, expecting a question to come at any moment. Erik just realized he had kept him waiting for longer than he preferred. He didn't want Marignon to get suspicious.

Erik kept staring directly at him when he asked, "How is it that you came up the idea to use actual children in your youth cream?" It seemed dumb, and instantly he regretted even making that his question. But he continued with it, playing it up like it really meant something to him. "The inner workings of your mind enthrall me. You thought about keeping the product fresh, new…lively."

Some of the words he had chosen to use catered to Marignon's ego, which turned out to be rewarding. Marignon relaxed slightly, smirking and falling into a habit of conceit. He believed it was a true inquiry. Then again, he would take any look into his genius as genuine, respectful, and impression.

Only after asking his question did Erik chance another look at Christine. He head was bent toward the ground. She had spotted the gun. His heart leapt with joy, but he didn't betray his relief on his exterior. Instead, he quickly resumed his sight on Marignon as the man opened his mouth to answer.

"You have really pinpointed me, Monsieur. I have to say that I am surprised by your intuitive abilities." He cleared his throat. "Of course I don't blame you for wanting to find the inspiration behind the sensation." He laughed, hollow and cold. "You see, as a child, I witnessed the murder of my younger brother. Living in squalor, he was killed over some frivolous thing that I cannot even remember to this day. The only thing that is fresh in my mind, as if I lived it only yesterday, was all of the blood soaking his smooth, youthful skin." His gaze began to get distant and his expression dreamful. "My parents had rushed off somewhere, probably to get help, so I was left all alone with the corpse. The crimson liquid entranced me, sent me spiraling into a world that had always existed in the depths of my mind. The next thing I knew, I was feasting on the blood, rubbing it all over me, and caressing the soft skin. It was my mother's screams that snapped me into realization.

"I was sent away after that, and I haven't seen my parents since. I dove into research over the human body and what made it up. When I believed the time to be right, I made my first kill—a wandering orphan no more than five years of age. No one would miss him. No one would notice. This was for the greater good, after all. Slicing him open, I again encountered that intoxicating blood. I tested it, mixed it with various chemicals and ingredients. It quickly became my obsession. I got the idea to try these concoctions on my skin with my second subject. That was how it began.

"However, I did have one big problem that seemed to be affecting whatever work I was able to accomplish: my pieces would all die too quickly. You see, I learned that the fresher the blood was, the better response I received from the product. Eventually, I grew old enough to get out on my own. The institution did nothing for me. I had to mentally grow more and I couldn't do that there. I changed my name, my reputation, my appearance. Telling a few white lies, I was able to get my product on the market. It was met with such a magnificent response. All my dreams were coming true. All my work was finally being recognized."

He came to. His eyes refocused and his expression hardened. He became defensive and threatening again. "And it will all still be so once I have killed both of you. You two are the only ones standing in my way now. I am determined, and my determination always pulls through."

As soon as he had ended his story, Erik lunged. He threw himself forward at about Marignon's waistline. He caught him, held tight, and took the man down. Marignon let out a deep-throated oomph before colliding into the metal. When Erik acted, so did Christine. At the same moment the two men had intertwined, she fell down and got a hold of the gun.

Meanwhile, Marignon was trying to catch up to what had happened. He became alerted to the figure struggling on top of him and put all of his attention and energy into that. He pushed up on the man's face and neck, trying to get him off. Erik gave way without much of a fight, received a stomp to his torso when Marignon had reached his feet. He kicked out and pushed Marignon against the railing then got to his feet, too.

"Stop there," Erik called breathlessly.

Marignon laughed as best as he could with little air in his lungs. "You are not as threatening as you may think."

"I may not be, but I'm sure this is."

Erik took one step to the side. Standing right behind him was Christine and she was brandishing the gun. Marignon's eyes went slightly wide staring down the barrel of his own weapon.

The tables had turned.


	20. One Final Bow

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** There's about one or two sections left after this one. Then there will another installment. Yay! I'm looking forward to number three. It may not be as long as this one, though. After number three will be the Christmas episode. You'll want to stay tuned for that one (wink, wink). I won't elaborate on that, so you'll just have to wait and find out what I mean.

**Section 20**

- One Final Bow

Jacque Marignon's scared expression swiftly turned back to its usual nonchalant one. He showed no fear and had even made it seem as if there had been none only moments before. His gaze traveled beyond the firearm pointed directly at his chest to the woman holding it. He gave the small cocky smirk of his, as if challenging her, daring her to pull the trigger.

Erik didn't know who to watch. His eyes kept traveling back and forth between his enemy and his ward. He was unsure as to what was going to happen. One second he'd be hoping that Christine would be able to make the shot if the time called for it. Then the next second he didn't want her to bear the weight of the final blow. There was no telling how it would end and what the aftershock would be.

Christine felt under the most pressure, though she never let it surface. Her muscles were so tense from attempting to keep calm. If she relented even slightly, she was sure her entire body would erupt into tremors that would not be easy to subside. Her heart beat against her ribcage at a thousand miles a minute. Her breathing was short as most of it caught in her throat. Even though she appeared composed, she didn't know whether or not she'd be able to complete the task that rested solely in her hands or not when it finally reached that point.

"Well, well, well," Jacque drawled. "Look at what we've got here. Do you even know how to use that, Mademoiselle?"

"What is there to know? You should be pleading for mercy right now instead of weighing my former knowledge," Christine shot back.

Her intensity was so fierce that it was a surprise a comeback could even be yielded. But Jacque Marignon was only speechless for a moment before finding at least some words to utter. Though he kept the same drawl to his voice, it became darker and threatening.

"Watch what you say. You shouldn't expect anything just yet."

Christine glanced at Erik quickly, the first time since grabbing hold of the weapon that she allowed her eyes to avert from the target. She shifted momentarily, trying to get more comfortable, which seemed quite impossible. Erik returned a questioning look. She was searching for an answer that he obviously did not have. Instead of letting her stand there dumbfounded, though, he stepped forward to pick up the conversation.

"You should just give yourself over to the police, Marignon," he said softly. "It's all over now."

"It's not over!" Jacque shouted, suddenly enraged. "I will never be put in jail!" His charming looks turned gruesome as a scowl morphed his face and his brows furrowed to an unpleasant sight. "Locked up in a cell waiting the horrendous effect of age and labor is not going to happen to me. I'm never going to succumb to it. I will be young and beautiful forever. And if anyone tries to alter that, I swear I will kill them."

"Can't you see?" Erik broke in. He was getting frustrated and annoyed at this man's mindset. As far as he was concerned, Jacque knew nothing. "It is not time that is the enemy. Age does not matter on appearances. It is your own attitude, your own horrible nature that will make you ugly on the exterior. Your inner demons will reveal themselves to the world, and when that happens, sir, nothing will be able to hide it."

"You know nothing!" Marignon continued shouting. "You speak lies! You know nothing!" He looked uneasy. He shifted in his spot, unable to stand still much longer. The rage was taking over his body. "I will stay young and beautiful forever. I will!"

Erik shook his head slowly. "No, you won't. You know you are wrong, but you are so blinded by this dream of grandeur that you have. You can't even see the truth when it is staring you in the face. You can't face what you did. You are blind to everything around you. You are cut off from all humanity due to this unhealthy obsession. No, you don't need to worry about growing old and ugly. You already are ghastly. You're hideous."

The one thing Jacque Marignon couldn't take was being labeled as ugly. It was everything he strove not to be, and it merely fueled his malice. All of the insults Erik threw out at him were enough to cause him unbalance. He could no longer remain where he was. Letting his temper take control of him, he flung himself from the spot and toward Erik.

He didn't get very far, though.

At the same moment his feet left the ground, Christine pulled the trigger on the gun. There was a loud bang that echoed throughout the room and left an unpleasant ringing in her ears. She was jarred backward from the kick of the firearm. Only stumbling, she was able to remain balanced enough not to fall to the ground.

It took her a while to regain her senses. She leaned against the transparent cage to brace herself as her head continued to clear up. Her chest heaved with rapid, deep breaths. Her brain was finally able to comprehend the sight before her. Though her ears were still muffed with the ringing, she identified what was going on and what had happened.

Erik was standing at the edge of the grating, peering over the side. Jacque Marignon was nowhere to be seen. There wasn't even a shred of his existence upon the walkway. She stumbled to the empty space next to Erik.

"What happened?"

Her voice was shaking and still unclear to her own ears. She shook her head slightly to try to help regain her hearing quicker. It wasn't as bad as the moment after the gun shot, but still not up to its full potential.

Erik looked at her and replied, "You got him, Christine. It hit his shoulder and forced him over the side."

Christine peered downward now, attempting to pinpoint where Marignon had landed. However, instead of seeing the motionless body she expected, the tank of unidentifiable liquid bubbled below. He had dived into the tub and disappeared from view. Christine stared into the opaque contents stoically before startlingly bursting into concern and dread.

"Erik!" she gasped turning to him. "This is terrible. I shouldn't have done that."

"Why not?"

"The key to free the children—he still has the key."

Tears came to her eyes and she was on the verge of sobbing. It had all been for nothing if they were unable to set the prisoners free. Meg was still behind an impenetrable barrier. The case had been solved. The whereabouts had been discovered. Yet, Meg was still lost. Marignon had still won.

But Erik grinned despite Christine's glum expression. He reached into his pocket and slowly extracted something that fit inside one fist. He held it out, letting anticipation grow. Then, after making sure Christine was staring directly at it, he slowly turned his wrist upward and opened his fist. There, sitting on his palm, was the key that she had thought had been lost.

"But how?" she beamed.

"I was able to remove it from his pocket during one of the times I lunged at him," he informed proudly. He placed it delicately in her hand. "You do the honors."

Nodding, Christine scuffled over to the cell and unlocked the door. Meg jumped out first and embraced her friend in a compassionate hug that lasted a while. Meanwhile, the children, cautiously, stepped out of the prison. When the embrace broke, Meg bent toward the children.

"These are the people I told all of you about," she whispered. Apparently, they had all bonded within the confines. The children seemed much more willing to trust Meg than the two strangers, especially since one wore an intimidating mask. "Now follow me and you will be safe."

Christine allowed Meg to start leading the children out of the room. She waited for the end of the line before joining in. She didn't want to lose any of them now that they had gotten that far. Situated this way, she could keep an eye on each head from the back. None would go missing. Before starting out, though, she checked over her shoulder at Erik, who was still positioned by the railing.

"Are you coming?" she asked.

"Yes, I'll be right behind you. I am just going to satisfy my curiosity on something," he told.

He descended one of the staircases and approached the tank Marignon had fallen into. It had emitted a weird whistling sound ever since the grown man had joined its contents. His first suspicion was that the body had collided with something inside or else hit some cord or wire. However, when he was close enough to read the dials on the machine, he realized it was much more serious than that.

Just as Christine was ushering the last child through the large door she had entered in just minutes earlier, she saw Erik running toward them. He looked frantic, hurried. She stopped and curiously waited his arrival.

"What is it?" she inquired.

"We have to get out of here now," he rushed. He began pushing her forward, but she wouldn't budge until he elaborated more. "If we don't move, we will all be buried beneath a pile of rubble."

"What?"

She began to feel the anxiety now, even though she still didn't know why. She searched his face, but was lost in the frenzy. Her heart began to race again. Would this night ever end? Was this episode ever going to be over? Marignon was still winning.

"The place is set to explode. If we don't get everyone out now, we all will die."

It was Marignon's revenge. His final bow.


	21. As It Should Be

**Disclaimer:** I hope, I wish, I pray, I yearn, but still I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 2:** The Fountain of Youth

**Summary:** After her big debut, Meg mysteriously goes missing. Add in multiple child kidnappings, and Erik is more than concerned. With the aid of his newest resident, he will have to solve the kidnappings and rescue Meg before it is too late.

**Author's Note:** Well, we have finally come to the end. I hope you enjoyed this installment. Stay tuned for number three. It will be up at the end of this week. The next one is going to prove to be a bit different from these last two. Thank you all for sticking around through my long delayed updates, and for all of your reviews. Without you, this would not exist. So, again, thank you, and until next time, ciao!

**Section 21**

- As It Should Be

The explosion was grand, knocking apart most of the building. The back half was demolished so that not even an outline of what had once been there stood. Fires burned in numerous places after the blast. Dust and debris filled the air, creating a smoky haze. Pieces of edifice that had been shaken loose fell in irregular increments, making the perimeter still dangerous and unstable.

The children, herded by Meg, had escaped to a safe distance before the disastrous detonation. Christine and Erik had been close in tow, but hadn't gotten far enough away from the blast in time. The force that had penetrated the air pushed them forward, off balance, and they had fallen to the street. Perhaps inflicted with a few scratches and bruises here and there, otherwise, they were left unharmed.

Erik clambered to his feet then assisted Christine to hers. She was a little shaken up, unsteady on two legs for a minute or two. He held her arms until she could regain her composure. He studied her face intensely as her eyes darted this way and that, wanting to make sure she was not injured in any way. Though his grip was firm and his voice was controlling, there was gentleness and caring in his protective way.

"Christine, are you alright?" he breathed quickly. When she didn't answer, he continued the interrogation. He needed her to relay an answer as soon as possible. "Christine, listen to me. I need to know that you are not wounded. Are you hurt? Do you feel faint or pain?"

Christine shook her head, almost absently at first then with more control. "No, no. I'm fine. I'm just a little shaken, but unharmed."

Erik smiled with relief and brushed away a dark stain on her cheek. She smiled back at him, unable to do much more at the moment. After all, they were still getting their bearings after being tossed a few feet into the air and landing like two sacks of potatoes onto the hard pavement. Shouts and hurried footsteps interrupted the moment. Both turned toward the oncoming crowd and firemen.

"Is everyone alright?" one of the men asked Erik as he came up. "Did everyone get out?"

"Check on the children and make sure they are not wounded. We are fine." He paused. "There were still some employees inside…and you may want to check in the back for any signs of life." The man nodded and rushed off to aid the others.

Erik and Christine joined up with Meg and the children. Meg threw herself into Erik's arm, embracing him long and hard. An expression of shock was smacked on his face, but was swiftly replaced with a pleasant smile and relaxed frame. He joined in a moment later, just as overjoyed to see Meg as she was to see him.

"Oh, Monsieur," she exclaimed, "I am so happy to see you again."

"You really worried us, Meg," he replied.

She took a step backward and looked into his gray eyes. "I apologize. I should never have tried to leave the Opera Populaire alone, especially in the dark. I shall be more careful next time. I promise."

He shook his head. "It was not your fault in the least. We all know who was really behind this."

"I looked after the children as best as I could. You would have been proud." Meg's enthusiastic grin turned upside down and tears stained her sapphire eyes as she bowed her head in sorrow. "It was so awful. Each day he would come in and pick out one of the young ones just like a cattle being chosen for slaughter. I tried to keep them safely behind me, but he was too powerful. He would shove me aside and grab one of the children by the arm, pull him or her out wailing." A drop rolled down her cheek. "I had to remain strong for the rest of them, though. I couldn't show how much it tore me up inside to see one less in that horrible cage."

Erik raised her chin with two fingers so that she looked into his eyes once more. The smile he offered was comforting and proud. "You have nothing to be ashamed or apologetic for. You did fantastic. Finding strength in a situation like that, Meg, is what a hero is all about. And you were a hero to these young children."

"Thank you, Monsieur." And she grinned again.

Erik let Meg go assist the children in speaking with some of the crew that came to aid them. He moved closer to the rubble, surveying the scene from a short distance. His hands were clasped behind his back in a proper fashion, though his clothes were covered in dust and dirt. They were torn in a few places, as well, and a small gash at his hairline was stained with dried blood.

"Worried?" Christine inquired, stepping next to him.

She adopted a rather proper posture, too, but, likewise, didn't look the part. Her frock was just as unkempt as his suit. Her hair was messy and burly. A small scratch on the nape of her neck was dappled with scarlet beads. However, she still held an elegant air and stature alongside his own.

"Should I be?" he responded.

"Who knows if Jacque Marignon actually died in that pit of…well, whatever that substance was?"

Hearing it actually worded caused a whole different feeling to arise than merely thinking of it. Had he died? Or did he manage to escape the explosion to try and start anew somewhere else? Would his inhuman experiments continue on? Or had Christine put an end to them once and for all? These questions seemed to haunt Erik. He needed to know. He needed to see a body or some sign of Marignon's death. He needed to be absolutely sure.

Then if on cue, two men came out of the destroyed building carefully maneuvering a stretcher. All that could be seen from Erik's spot was a white blanket thrashing about and a small pale circle. Overcome with curiosity, and in hopes of having his fears extinguished, he hurried toward the odd buggy.

The victim strapped onto the stretcher was unrecognizable. It was only after Erik had stared deeply into the man's azure eyes that he gave a gasp of familiarity. The man before him had stringy white hair that was thin enough to show scalp beneath it. His face was distorted and acid burned. There were many wrinkles and other age marks beneath that, though. He was raving like a lunatic, babbling about beautiful exteriors and youthful looks. Yes, the man before him was just who he had been searching for. It was Jacque Marignon in the flesh.

"We found him in the back. A large metal bin saved his life, though whatever was in it seemed to have really left a mark."

"This is the man behind it all," Erik informed quietly.

The two assistants nodded and wheeled the psychotic Jacque away. Erik turned around to be face to face with Christine, who had followed him. They knew that it was now over. Marignon would be put away in a mental institute, most likely. He would never be released and he'd never have his handsome features back.

"It's done now," Erik concluded. He offered his arm to Christine, who gladly accepted, and they strolled away from the scene. "Marignon got exactly what he deserved in the end. He will never know a pleasant exterior again."

"Erik," Christine said carefully, "I cannot help but think that you personalized a bit with him. I know it sounds awful, but in a way it is as if you could almost put yourself in his shoes, minus the hysterics and devilish doings."

He couldn't help understanding where she was coming from, but he played it off. "How do you mean?"

"Well, if you don't mind me being so bold…" she started, waiting for his approval to continue.

"Go ahead," he allowed.

"Well, you know how Marignon was obsessed with his youth and his appearance. He needed to be beautiful. I can't help sensing that you might feel similarly. The way you wear that mask around, it's obviously hiding something that you do not wish the public to see. You, too, want to cover up any unpleasant exteriorities."

"Yes, I do," Erik admitted. "The difference between us, though, Christine, is that Marignon tried to completely change back to his past self. He wanted to go back in time to a youthful stage. I accept what I hide and do not try to alter it. I merely shield people from having the misfortune of laying eyes upon it."

"Erik…" she breathed, sympathetically.

"Appearances are always on trial, Christine, and the public eye always controls the gavel."

-----

The children made it safely home and into the arms of relieved and tearful parents. Meg was received in exactly the same fashion by Madame Giry, who then ushered her daughter into a private room so that they could catch up and bond. Madame Giry refused to let her daughter out of her sight for the next couple of weeks, until she was sure that Meg was safe. Meg, being at the ripe age of sixteen, of course felt smothered and slightly annoyed at the attention her mother paid her. However, she allowed her mother this after what she had put her through.

Erik was finally able to relax knowing that the members of his household were happy and safe. He was glad he was capable of helping those dear to him, yet he couldn't stop the musings of how much he had changed since Christine had come to live under his roof. She was a ray of sunshine that had dispelled the dark clouds he had formed over the entire household. He was actually starting to feel no regret for allowing her to stay.

That is, until one morning when sleeping late, Erik began to toss and turn as his sleep was interrupted by a familiar sound. He tried to muffle the noise by holding a pillow over his head, emerging his entire body underneath his sheets. Nothing worked, though. The incessant racket was back again, and there was no escaping it.

As he sat up in bed, fed up with the interruption of his slumber, there was only one word that exited his voice box in the form of an annoyed yell, "Christine!"

Downstairs, nowhere near Erik's bloodshot eyes, the brown haired beauty that sat at the piano, her fingers wildly, yet gracefully prodding up and down the ivory keys, smiled a pleasant smile. Everything was how it should be.

_Fin_

* * *

_Next in store for our detective…_

Playing with fire, one is bound to get burned. The flickering oranges, reds, and yellows are alluring, as well as dangerous. Only in the hands of a young woman will the inferno be able to bring about not only death, but life.


End file.
